


Find Me Love

by CheekyBrunette



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Lirry - Freeform, M/M, Niam - Freeform, lilo, zarry - Freeform, ziall, zianourry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyBrunette/pseuds/CheekyBrunette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five male prostitutes find their worth in one another.</p><p>(Also known as the one where Liam only amounts to the costume he’s wearing, Zayn doesn’t feel pretty without lipstick and mascara, Louis isn’t safe unless he’s completely and utterly dominant, Niall just needs to desensitize himself from his own memories, and Harry wants it and wants it bad.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Me Love

Zayn is wiping down the bar when his first customer of the night comes in, a burly-looking dude with dark hair and black eyes. Zayn has been in this business long enough to know what type of boy he is looking for; he can see it in the look in his eye and his tightly curled fingers. In fact, Zayn is nearly one hundred per cent sure that he's about to have his ass drilled into, but he's not the type of guy to chase after something unless he is positive he can catch it. He was just reapplying his bright red lipstick in his compact mirror, when he feels an arm snake around his bare waist.

"So, I'm thinkin' this guy either wants me or you," Harry says, ignoring his personal space as much as ever. Zayn rolled his eyes and shrugged him off, not wanting his co-worker to get any ideas. He had no intentions of fucking Harry Styles, and playing along with all his flirty touches would only egg him on.

"Yeah, or Niall. We've got a lot of the pretty, effeminate type here, Haz," he replied to the other boy, not bothering to look at him as he fixed his quiff up a little higher, and Harry pinched his cheek.

"Relax, I'm just kidding with you, mate. He's definitely here for you. He hasn't stopped staring at your ass since he got in. Clearly, he's digging everything those stilettos are doing for ya," he promised with a smile, and Zayn relaxed a bit. He hadn't noticed how tense he had been. Sometimes Zayn got a bit overly competitive when it came to clientele, but… but he couldn't help it. Every time a customer picked one of the other boys over him it always felt so… so personal.

Zayn hummed and walked out from behind the bar in his fire engine red heels, pulling his tiny, high waisted shorts up a bit to let the bottom of his bum show. Zayn doesn't have any plans of going up to this man, though. Not at all. Instead, he 'accidentally' brushes a stack of napkins off the counter and onto the ground and doubles in half as he bends over to pick them up, letting his body do the talking.

Harry quirks an eyebrow at him from his spot on the other side of the bar. "Out for blood tonight, aren't you Zaynie? Don't go maiming the poor lad."

"That's more Louis's specialty," Zayn teased, standing up just as his soon-to-be new client crossed the somewhat empty 'pub' (that's what it was as far as the cops were concerned, anyway) and reached him.

"I was wondering if I could… Um… Like, maybe if you just… I dunno know how this works, like…"

"I'll take you to the back," Zayn offered, planting a kiss on the other man's cheek, leaving a smudge of red lipstick with a smirk. At least when he's dressed up like this he's considered pretty by _someone's_ standard. He pushes the man toward the door that led to the back of the property and -more importantly- the _bedrooms._ "Lets get you all taken care of, big guy."

* * *

Liam surveyed the floor of The Cocktail, checking up on all of his prostitutes. Or, okay, they weren't really _his_ , per say. Liam was on the same level as everyone else; he wasn't… he wasn't pimping them out or anything; that's what they had Paul for. Liam's role was more managerial. This _was_ a functioning pub, after all, and _someone_ had to keep an eye on all of the workers.

Maybe Liam got put in charge because he was big and strong and could protect everybody there. Maybe he was the leader due to how high strung and uptight he could be about things. Maybe he was in this position because of how caring he was… But regardless, The Cocktail was as much his own as it was his pimp's.

Things were pretty quiet tonight, due to it being a Tuesday, and Liam only had his four best (Zayn, Louis, Niall, and Harry) on in addition to a few other workers who Liam knew could really use a job or two. As far as he knows, no one had made their way back into the bedrooms yet, and that was probably for the best. As much as Liam likes making money: this type of business was dangerous, and he loved his staff much too much to see them hurt (which sucked cause it happened on an unfortunately regular basis).

He's just checking his back pocket to make sure he's got his gun on him, when he spots Louis walking to the back with a particularly scrawny guy. Weird. Normally the little guys preferred to be in control… He made sure to make eye contact with the dominatrix, checking that he was okay and comfortable (because, believe it or not, it was important for prostitutes to be comfortable, too, and even masters like Louis got themselves into situations where they're taken over). Lou just sends him a smirk to show he's all right. The leather-clad boy throws his new sub through to the back hall and that's that.

Now Liam's only got his usual three and a few others to worry about.

The crack of a whip from somewhere in the bedrooms signals that Louis has started his work, and Liam nearly mistakes a squeal from the front of the bar as one Lou had evicted, but fortunately, he recognizes the yelp as Niall's.

His head whips around to check up on the younger boy, and he finds him squirming away from a rather creepy guy with at least eighty pounds on the blond. Normally, Liam would be on his feet in seconds, jumping up to help his employee, but it was really hard to tell with Niall if he was okay with his John or not. Part of the boy's act was to make it seem like he wasn't okay with what was happening. He was supposed to be the innocent and unsuspecting one.

It was a great persona to take on when it came to their customers, but it was stressful for Liam, who never knew if Niall needed help. The tiny lad doesn't seem to be throwing up any positive or negative signals to him, and Liam was about to go over and see if everything is alright (because Niall's health and happiness was more important than keeping the mood), but before he can, Zayn has already abandoned his patron and is at Niall's table.

"Nialler, do you have blush on you?" Liam heard Zayn ask, and he watched as Niall looked up at the Pakistani boy and shook his head no. Zayn tsked. "Oh right, I forgot, your cheeks are just naturally rosy pink, you little tosser. I'll go ask Li."

Heels clacked across the hardwood floor, and Liam sat a bit more upright in his chair. "So he's alright?" he asked as Zayn made his way over to his table, and the other boy pressed his lips together.

"Yeah, he's fine. I just… I hate this little show of his sometimes. I can never tell without talking to him if he's good or not, you know?" he asked, a pained expression taking over his pretty face. For some reason Liam couldn't quite place, Zayn always seemed to be a bit flustered over Niall, particularly when he was working. Most of the boys had gotten used to the blond always looking unhappy when he was on the job, but Liam supposed something about it just didn't sit right with Zayn.

"I know, buddy, it sucks. Are you planning on doing a job with that guy over there? Or should I find somebody to take to the back and let you keep an eye on things? I kinda feel all dressed up with nowhere to go," he explained, nodding at the man Zayn had abandoned to check up on Niall. Liam was currently wearing a groom's outfit, and he wanted to put it to good use.

Zayn whirled around as if he forgot what he had been doing earlier. "Huh? Oh, yeah, right. No, I told him I just needed to freshen up, and then I would be all his… Oh! Also, Harry took a guy out back by the dumpsters again. I dunno if you wanna go stop that or not… "

Liam sighed. He didn't understand why Harry had to have sex on the dirty pavement outback when they _had places_ for this. "I think I'll leave him, but when he comes back, I might just send him up to his room. He really has to stop _doing that_ ," Liam answered, crinkling his nose. Zayn nodded.

"Yeah, that kid is nuts. I don't know what his problem is. But it's probably best that you make him call it quits for the evening cause he's been going at it nonstop for the past few days, and I have no clue how his bum can even handle it," he half-laughed, before turning back to look at his eagerly waiting client. "Okay, well, look, I gotta go get back to what I was doin'. If you wanna start flirting with someone or whatever, I don't think this is gonna take too long… I know an early releaser when I see one."

"Okay, Z. Come get me if you need me," he offered, letting Zayn walk off and his thoughts wander.

Fucking Harry.

Liam had honestly never met someone more sex-crazed in his life. It was nearly impossible to keep him safe, and like… okay, in terms of escort businesses, The Cocktail (and all of Paul's other places) were rather high end; however, it was still an occupational hazard for male prostitutes to get a rectal tear at some point in their life, and with the way Harry went about his work, Liam wasn't quite sure how he wasn't cut to ribbons down there. 

Okay, maybe that was a bit graphic, but it was like all Harry _cared_ about was having dick up his ass through whatever means necessary, and it was _terrifying_. He was the newest to the group, and although he acted like he had, Liam was relatively sure that Harry hadn't had any practise as a prostitute before this. No one came into these things a virgin, but Harry seemed ridiculously inexperienced when he arrived…

Ugh. All of this was so complicated, and none of his workers walked away from their evenings happy. It was just _so hard_ to take care of people whose job is to not take care of themselves.

* * *

"God, Lou. You always look so fucking hot; I'd let you teach me a lesson any day," Harry complimented. Louis had just gotten dressed for the evening, and he wasn't trying to hide what his specialty was in the slightest. Tight leather clung to his legs and strips of it stretched around his torso in such a way that one pull in the right place could make his entire top fall off. If all the black he was wearing and his somewhat devious smirk didn't communicate what he would do to you in bed, Louis was confident that the riding crop held in his belt loop would get the message across.

"Yeah, Louis, you look great!" Niall agreed as he passed by Louis's room, obviously having just gotten ready himself. The little blond was in a giant, loose strappy tank and a pair of grey leggings. Lou would kill to wear something so comfortable and innocent on the job. "Your legs are amazing!"

Louis squirmed in his place, laughing nervously and letting his 'in top and in charge' façade drop for a second. He'd never been one to handle compliments from the other boys that well, unlike Zayn who seemed to soak them up. "Ah, thanks. These are actually the worst pants ever; they take forever to get out of. It's kinda awkward to make someone bruise and bleed and then have them watch as you can't get your trousers off," he replied, and Harry laughed while Niall just looked horribly uncomfortable.

Louis didn't think Harry and Niall could be more opposite. Harry seemed to love being a prostitute (Louis had never met a more desperate bottom whore, and that's saying something, considering his regular customers); meanwhile, just saying the word "sex" seemed to bring Niall to near tears.

Louis wasn't about to judge either of them, though. They were all in this fucked up mess together.

"You feeling alright, Ni?" he asked (because he would have had to be an asshole not to), and Niall's eyes widened for a second before he turned away a bit, the glitter smeared on the younger boy's cheeks catching the light. He looked so young, and Louis could understand why all the creepy paedophiles and soon-to-be rapists sought Niall out when they came into the bar. He seemed too little and naïve to be in this business.

"Yeah, just tired," he answered, and Louis hummed before grabbing a pair of handcuffs from his bedside table and stuffing them in his pocket.

"Well, you'd better wake up, buddy, we've a lot of Johns to bang," Louis replied easily, and Harry snorted.

"Maybe you do, Louis, but it's _my ass_ being screwed with, not the other way around," he laughed, and Niall flushed. Louis didn't like how unhappy the blonde always seemed, but, frankly, it wasn't his problem.

Louis had his own twisted past to deal with.

* * *

"Zayn, do you know where Liam is?" Niall questioned. "He asked me to get his police officer costume dry cleaned, but I can't find it anywhere…" Zayn glanced up from his book to look at him for a second before a smile graced across his unpainted lips (it was weird to see Zayn like this in the mornings… without any makeup or nice clothes).

"That kid has like _eighty_ cop uniforms, and you can't find one of them?" he asked, laughing a little bit, and Niall snorted indignantly.

"It's a specific one," he replied, not bothering to correct Zayn that Liam only had _three_ cop uniforms, not eighty. "It's the really little one with the short shorts and the red badge and belt? You remember, you called him a super slut when he wore it that one time cause he left it all the way open." He's not sure how else to distinguish it from the rest of Liam's costumes, but fortunately, Zayn's eyes widen with realisation.

"Oh! Right. I had a skirt that needed cleaning cause… cause… Well, let's just say, never wear a tutu in bed unless you want all the layers to stick together. Anyways, I saw it was in the dirty laundry pile, so I just took it all to the cleaners," he explained, and Niall sighed in relief. Phew. One more thing off his list.

He took a seat on the opposite side of the couch as Zayn, careful not to touch him as he curled his knees up to his chest and Zayn went back to reading. He sat and watched for a little, revelling in the comfort that came from just _sitting_ with someone. Especially someone as nonthreatening as Zayn. Zayn was easy. "Whachya reading?" he asked, voice quiet just in case the other boy didn't want to be interrupted, and Zayn looked up from his book, flashing him the cover.

"S'just _A Room With A View_. It's nice. Like… it's different then all…" Zayn made a vague gesture to the room, and Niall nodded in understanding, though he wasn't quite sure what exactly he was referring to. He just knew that despite good pay and a rather safe environment for their profession, it was… it was horrible here. Not nice at all.

He balled up a little tighter, subconsciously pulling away from Zayn a little more. His mind trips over possibilities, and outcomes, and the way Zayn has always read things Niall can't understand. Zayn is literate and intellectual, and Niall has trouble putting together what that means for him, but it does prompt him to ask questions.

"You read lots of big books, Z. Are… are you not meant for here? Like are you… Um… Well, you're smart, yeah? You're… are you…" Niall trailed off, crossing his fingers in hopes that the older boy would pick up what he was asking. (While Zayn was intelligent, Niall was not, and he found it increasingly hard to express himself every now and again.)

"What are you asking, Niall?" A sudden seriousness sweeps over the conversation, and Niall isn't sure he meant to stumble onto whatever this is going to be, but the way Zayn is focused on him forces Niall to keep trying. _A Room With A View_ lay forgotten on the floor, page number lost.

He frowned, fingers fisting the hems of his sleeves. "Like… like maybe you're smart enough to _be_ something _._ Lots of the guys here like… like Andy and Josh and stuff, they… I dunno. Couldn't you have a real job? Couldn't you be something else?" he asked, flinching as Zayn moved but relaxing when he realised the other boy was merely bringing his legs up to hug his knees. They were now mirroring each other; both curled up and tense on the couch and staring with wide eyes.

"Maybe I could be something…" Zayn said. He turned away from Niall, resting his cheek on his knee and facing the wall. Niall's stomach squirmed as he realised he might be overstepping.

"Then why didn't you _try_?" he asked before he could stop himself, and Zayn turned back to him, eyebrows furrowed together.

"Why didn't _you_ try?" he threw back. Something painful pierced through Niall's heart, and his mouth snapped shut. Fair question, but unanswerable. Zayn didn't even bother to act like he expected a response, but rather picked up his book and began reading again. Or sort of. Niall could tell he was just reading the same page over and over, and with each flustered repeat of the same few paragraphs, things grew stiffer between them, until suddenly Zayn _wasn't_ easy and Niall jumped off the couch.

"I'm gonna go find Liam and… and tell him his laundry is all sorted. Sorry for bugging you," he apologised. Zayn just grunted in response, but Niall was already gone, making a quick escape before anyone noticed the tears leaking from his eyes.

* * *

Harry moaned in want as his current customer fingered him open. "Shit… _Shit_ , don't even _bother_ , just fuck me," he begged, hands reaching out and clawing at his John's back. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, shit, _please_ ," he demanded, not caring about getting stretched and not caring about his safety. He just wanted it; he _needed_ it. "Please, _please,_ shit, before I-"

"Alright, that's enough."

Before Harry can process it, he was being ripped off the hard concrete and dragged inside, pants shamelessly around his ankles. His hands are still out in front of him, as he tries to grip onto the man whose _supposed_ to be drilling into him, and it's not until Liam, the party-pooper he is, sits him down in one of their back bedrooms that he realises what has happened. "Wait… what? Liam, that was my _client_ ," he complained, and his manager just arched an eyebrow at him.

"First off, pull your trousers up," Liam demanded, and Harry was happy to oblige, "Second, do you see where you are right now? Right, remember the customer you had? This room is not just for _him_ , okay? This room is for _you_. Do you remember why we have the bedrooms right off the floor?" the older boy asked, impatience lacing his words. Meanwhile, Harry merely rolled his eyes. This was the same speech he had been hearing since he landed a job here in the first place.

"They're so someone can come quick if we need help," he replied, and Liam was agreeing practically before he finished.

"Right, exactly. You can't continue to take people out back, Haz, it's _dangerous_. You're going to… to bleed out back there, I don't know. I can't keep tabs on you when you're out and about and all over. That's why we don't let customers take you guys home. Don't let them take you out back, either. I can't help when you're back there," he yelped, clearly frustrated, and Harry scowled.

"Liam, this is stupid, I _like_ it rough, that's my _thing_." And it was. When Harry wanted it, he wanted it _hard_ , and he couldn't settle for less (unless it was the difference between going broke for a day or having a bit of money to throw around, and it usually was). "I don't need help, I _like_ when it hurts," he complained, and Liam looked ready to smack him.

"This isn't up for discussion, Harry. Besides, any guy can just run off without paying when you do that. If you take them back here, they have to leave through the bar, where we can catch them, yeah? So just… just stop. You can have it as rough as you'd like back here, not out on the pavement."

"I just wanna have fun, Liam."

"You _can_ have fun. I don't… I have no fucking clue what you think is so fun about all this shit, but you can do whatever you need to _back in a bedroom_. Hell, I would prefer you did it on the bar top before you did it out back. Just quit it, okay? I don't… I don't want you dead, buddy. And I want you to get the money you deserve. Can you please just… just quit it, okay? If I catch you out there again, you're suspended for two weeks, do you understand?" Liam questioned, and Harry squirmed, not happy with his inability to argue.

"Yes, I understand… Now get out of here so I can hand myself off, you impatient arsehole," he snapped, and Liam threw his hands up, leaving the room without a word, and Harry collapsed back onto the musty mattress behind him. Shit. Why did everything have to be so fucking complicated? He just… he wanted to like his job; that was all. He really did just want to have fun, it was just… this was… this was a hard job to make happy, and… _shit_.

Harry rolled over and kicked the bedframe, not caring as the metal rang out probably loud enough for Liam to hear out in the hallway. It would be okay. It was gonna be okay.

* * *

"What's a young, pretty, little thing like you doing in a place like this?" a familiar voice calls up from above him. Niall takes a break from staring into the pint he was nursing and instead looks up at the man talking to him. Michael, he thinks is his name, but Niall hadn't bothered to remember it when he had initially introduced himself. It wasn't often that he got regulars, so he never expected to see a client again once they paid and left. (Niall was supposed to be playing the part of the cute, unsuspecting virgin. Previously having sex together generally ruined that illusion.)

A giggle escaped his lips, and if he hadn't been doing this for months, Niall wouldn't believe he could actually manage a laugh like that. It seemed his insides were too dead and scarred over. Fortunately at this point, he had enough practice to make it convincing even to himself. "Just looking for a good time," he answered, smiling as brightly as he can, and the man slides into the booth next to him. He's sitting too close for comfort, and Niall wants him off, he needs him off, please, get off, _please get off._

"I'm sure I could help with that, if you wouldn't mind returning the favour," Michael -Mitchell? Martin? Morgan?- offered. Niall tilted his head up as lips sucked on his neck, scruffy beard scratching at his throat. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, please get off._

"And what would I have to do?" Niall asked. His heart is imploding in his chest, and his hands fist at his sides.

"Not much," whatever-his-name-was replied between nips at Niall's skin, and it was all he could do not to squirm away, no matter how numb he was to all of this now. "All you have to do is get on your hands and knees and crawl to me. Then I'll show you some _real_ fun." The man's voice was deep and gruff. His hands slipped underneath Niall's loose tank top, touching whatever he could see through it's gaping holes before lowering on his body. Niall bit his lip and bit back an awkward laugh (all part of the show).

"That sounds dirty," he replied, hushed like he didn't want the rest of the bar to hear. His nose crinkled up like a bunny's.

Niall bit back a gasp as fingers trail up his torso, nails scraping at his sides. "Sweetheart, you've spent too many nights with me to not expect dirty by now," he laughed. "And you say it like it's a bad thing? I know you like it, don't you? I have so much to teach you, and you want to learn all of it, don't you? _Don't you?"_ Michael demanded, and Niall isn't sure how to play this role. It's more accurate to himself than who he usually plays in instances like these; though, it's still off by a long shot.

"Yes, yes, teach me, I'll do anything, I'll crawl, I'll crawl," Niall promised, and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Before he knows it, he's being all but dragged to the back, the ever-dominant Louis raising an eyebrow at him as he allows himself to be pulled to the bedrooms. It's embarrassing to be so submissive. This is all so _embarrassing_. There was a hand fisted into his shirt, forcing him along, and Niall tried to look eager, but honestly, he could barely take air in. Please let go, please let go, please let go, _please, please, please let go._

* * *

There were five basic things that a good brothel had to have.

First, it had to have regular clientele (these were the kind of guys whose wives either got fat or got mean, and now they were looking for someone else to help give them some kind of self-worth).

It had to have regular prostitutes who were versatile but also consistent in the quality of their work.

There had to be a wide range of _kinds_ of workers: i.e., a dominatrix, a role player, a cross-dresser, a bottom-whore, and someone innocent and young for all the _real_ creeps.

It needed to have quick access to bedrooms so no clients -or desires- were lost between the time men were picked up to the time they were laid down.

Finally, it had to have a good cover as a _legal_ business that people of the expected calibre would want to patron.

The Cocktail had all of the above, but Liam was especially proud of the last on the list. It was a little sleazy, sure, but, naturally, they couldn't really avoid perverts coming in, could they? And anyway, the bar was classy. It was only two blocks from centre city, placing it right in the hub of all the business they were trying to attract, what with the five star hotels and the business sector just around the corner. The atmosphere was… well, it was pleasant enough for anyone walking in. Maybe if you didn't' realise it was a gay bar before entering, you might be up for a bit of a shock (Liam's boys dressed skimpy, and that wasn't about to stop any time soon), but you wouldn't come in and instantly understand what you were walking into.

Liam's workers were all friendly. Half the experience was the way you felt before going to the back, at least in Liam's opinion, and he made sure that everyone was pleasant to their customers, whether they were coming to hire or not.

Business was usually pretty booming. People came in who weren't just looking for prostitutes, and overall, it was a fine establishment that Liam felt like he had built from the ground up. He was proud of it, and he was proud of what his staff had all managed to accomplish. If Liam didn't have to watch his waistline for his job, he'd be eating the Cocktail's french-fries and burgers every night, they were that good. They all had created something _that good_.

It just sucked that there was so much shit that had to come with it.

Liam was just beginning to notice how stressed he was all the time. Like… like he was already pretty terrified of his life, and what he was doing, and what he wasn't doing, and basically every decision he had ever made; he knew that, that's why he was whoring himself out in the first place. But before he really became in charge of things at the bar or whatever, Liam really only had himself to worry about. Now he was making decisions and sorting things out for twenty or more people every night. He held lives in his hands, when Liam… Liam couldn't really figure his own out.

Liam wasn't exactly sure who he was as a person. All he knew was that whomever he chose to be, he always ended up hating himself. He was nothing. He was _nothing_. And… And it didn't matter if he was a fine upstanding citizen, or if he was screwing around with every John that crossed his path. He _always_ felt like shit. At least in this business, Liam could reinvent himself every night with his infinitely large costume collection and irregular customers.

Call it strange or… you know what, you'd probably call it insane, but Liam felt safest when he was wearing somebody else's uniform and getting fucked by a stranger. Because to that person, that brand new person he didn't know, Liam wasn't Liam. He was just whatever costume he put on. And that was _nice_. That was _really, really nice._ Liam's clients would scream out in ecstasy whatever name he dubbed best for the evening, and it was the closest he'd ever manage to get to reinventing himself. Plus, as most everyone knows, sex is a _great_ distraction, and Liam was grateful for every opportunity to get away from it all for a moment.

* * *

Zayn frantically ripped through his shitty little medicine cabinet, past all of his trampy, trashy make up. What the hell was he thinking when he bought all of these red lipsticks and not enough pinks? How was he ever going to wear his new pumps if he didn't have a lipstick to match?

The shoes in question were basically Barbie gone streetwalker. They were bubble gum pink, five inches off the ground, and a truckload of glitter forced them to shimmer on their every surface. Their inner lining was made of faux zebra fur, and Zayn was pretty sure he would be wearing these for the rest of his life; he was so excited. These heels, plus his black and white striped fit and flare dress, and a big chunky pink necklace would definitely catch the eye of anyone coming into the bar that evening, if only he could find the proper lip colour.

"What're you looking for?" Harry asked from behind him, leaning on the doorframe for a quick second before joining him in his bathroom. Zayn took notice of the way he hobbled into the room. Harry couldn't possibly like it as rough as he said he did; he limped everywhere he went. The poor kid should probably give himself a break, but the little guy was a workhorse, apparently.

"Hot pink lipstick… or lip crayon… or lip stain… basically anything at this point. I need something to match some shoes I just bought. Apparently, it seems like I only ever feel the urge to buy different shades of red," he mused, not giving up his fruitless search. Harry took a seat on the bathtub ledge.

"Are you sure you don't have a hot pink? Cause I think that's the colour you were wearing when we met. I remember, cause you had on a matching shirt dress and leggings," Harry recalled, and it sparks Zayn's own memory as he rifled a little further into the cabinet and managed to find the tube of lipstick Harry was referring to. He slid on the makeup in the mirror, being careful not to colour outside of the lines. He finished off by sucking on one finger and slowly slipping it through his bowed mouth, removing the gloopy lipstick from the inside part of his lips as to avoid staining his teeth pink. "Well, if you do that in front of me, I'm gonna be forced to get inspired," Harry said with an eyebrow raise, and Zayn looked at him quizzically, slamming his hands down on the sink ledge.

"Really, dude? Why do you always have to be like that? It's creepy," he snapped at him. Zayn couldn't help it; he was always cranky when he was trying to somehow transform his ugly face into something presentable and, well, _pretty_. It was frustrating, and he didn't need Harry to throw out perverted commentary while he threw on mascara. This was already stressful enough.

Harry clearly didn't see where he was coming from, his nose crinkling up. "What's your problem, mate? I'm pretty sure you should be used to this kinda shit by now. How is it that despite being the newest one here, I'm the only one out of the lot of you who has managed to settle into this business?" he asked, clearly annoyed, and Zayn just really, really didn't have the time for all of Harry's shit right now.

It's not that he particularly hated Harry, it's that he hated his personality.

Okay, that came out wrong, but _seriously_. How could someone be so enthusiastic about _prostitution?_ Not even people who _hired_ prostitutes were as excited for the sex as Harry was.

"Haz, do you not even see what I'm doing right now? I'm putting on _lipstick_ to match my _shoes_. I've certainly 'settled into' my job or whatever, I'm just not keen on getting fucked by everything with a pulse. Why the hell are you?" Zayn questioned. His cheeks are flushed, and he hasn't even put his blush on yet. Harry squirmed where he was sitting, obviously in some sort of distress, but Zayn was sick of feeling sexually harassed by one of his flatmates (and yes, hookers felt that way sometimes, too). He didn't really care too much about how Harry felt at the moment. He rolls his eyes at the other boy when he doesn't answer and turns back to the mirror. "You're sick, Harry."

"I'm not… Look, if you don't love what you do, then why do it?" he asked, nose still scrunched up like it always was when he was upset. Zayn sighed.

"Cause… cause I dunno, _nothing_ makes me happy, so I might as well do this," Zayn explained, hopelessly looking at himself in the mirror and desperately wishing he could fix his features into something more desirable. Zayn just wanted people to _like him_. Nobody _liked him_. "At least when you're a whore, people show interest in you. That's not so bad. But it still _sucks,_ Harry. This job is shit, and everyone you meet is shit, and we're all… all of us are _shit_." _I'm shit._ He's frustrated and angry, and he's taking it all out on Harry.

The younger's face screws up a little further, eyebrows furrowed together. "No, I'm _not_. You're a douche, Zayn," he demanded before running off, and Zayn could have _sworn_ he had heard a waver in his voice before he got up and left, but he's never known Harry to cry, and he doubts he'd just start now. Harry loved his business and loved himself; meanwhile, Zayn… Zayn hated everything.

* * *

Louis slid the tip of his riding crop down over the chest of his newest victim, smirking as the man tugged at his bonds to get closer. "Please… please, Louis, I need… _I need_."

"I told you not to call me Louis," he snapped, whipping his client on the cheek enough to make his head snap to the side but not hard enough to make anyone at work or at home question the bruise on his face. Louis _loves_ this. It's absolutely amazing to feel so in _control_. With so many elements of Louis's life slipping out of his command, it's nice to be able to finally dominate something. To own something. To make all the decisions.

"S-Sorry, Master. _Master_. I'll call you whatever you want, sir, just please… please…. Shit, _please_ , I need you. I've been patient, I've been patient, I've been _waiting_ , sir, please just-"

Louis cuts him off with a smack to the opposite side of his face, this time with his hand.

"Shut up. Did I tell you to speak?" he asked, and the man whimpered, shaking his head no. He was completely at Louis's disposal, hands cuffed to opposite sides of the headboard and ankles latched to the foot of the bed. He was naked and bare, and Lou could do whatever he wanted. Or… anything short of continuing after being safe worded. _Pineapples._ Everyone always chose _pineapples_. Why was that a thing? "Besides, all your snivelling isn't what I'd define as being _patient_ ," he quipped.

Their bodies are close enough that Louis can feel the heat of the other's body radiating off his torso, the brief ghost of hairs tickling across his skin. However, he's far enough away to devoid his John the pleasure of touch. Touching didn't come until later. Louis got to make the call of when and _if_ it happened, and, obviously, he liked to let his customers suffer a bit before getting them off.

The man's mouth clamped up, and Louis pressed a quick kiss to his lips, causing him to quiver beneath him. "There we go; that's what I thought. Now, keep fucking quiet, or your ass won't be the only thing that ends up sore tomorrow," he promised before pulling away. The man made a keening noise for a second at the loss of _almost_ contact, but a quick smack of Louis's riding crop against his side got him back in order. _Shit_ , was it amazing to be so in control like this. His hands go up to the waistband of his own leather leggings, pulling them-

"Pineapples!"

And just as swiftly as control was placed into Louis's hands, it was whisked away. "What? Right now? Are you serious? You're stripped and tied to a bed. What could be freaking you out _now_?" he questioned. It's not the first time Louis has gotten stopped like this, but usually it happened closer to the beginning: either after Louis started forcing them to undress or after he cuffed them down. His sub's face went from desperate for sex to desperate for attention in two seconds flat.

"I don't want this. I… I have a husband at home, and I… _Fuck_. He's a bitch, but I'm all his, and I don't want you to… I don't want you to…"

"If you're worried about syphilis or herpes or something, I swear, I'm clean, and anyways, I've never done this unprotected. It's like a rule here. You won't give him anything."

"No, no… I'm… I'm not worried about passing something onto him; I'm… I don't wanna be a cheater. I've changed my mind. I don't want to be a cheater. Just… Please untie me. Please untie me. Pineapples, pineapples, pineapples," he repeats. His John's eyes are big and wide, and Louis sighs, dragging himself away and accepting his loss of power and the fact that he never really had it in the first place. He throws his t-shirt from earlier over the poor guy to cover him up while he pulled the handcuff key from his boot and started to unlock him.

"You know, just because we didn't actually have sex, it doesn't mean you don't have to pay me. Foreplay is the most important part of the job," he huffed, and Louis realises he's not being particularly sensitive, but he feels robbed and can't be bothered to care.

The man's head hits the back of the mattress, and Louis can see him gulp. "Okay." Soon, he's freed, and Lou tosses him his clothes, turning as he changes and only looking at him again when he feels a hand on his shoulder and a wad of cash being pressed into his hand. "Thank you."

With that, he's off. Louis watches him go and wonders what love really is if people can break it and prove it all in one day.

* * *

It's been a long time since one of his boys have gotten an anal fissure, and really, Liam shouldn't be so surprised. It's just that he had fully expected the next one to belong to Harry, not Niall.

"This sucks," the little blonde croaked. His face was sickly pale, and it was obvious he was struggling not to cry. Liam crossed his arm over the centre seat of the cab they were in, latching onto Niall's hand. He was sitting on a thick towel to catch the blood slowly draining from him, and Liam knew how embarrassing this probably was.

"S'okay, buddy. We're gonna go to the doctor's, and he's gonna maybe stitch you up, depending, and then you get a break from work for a couple days. That'll be good. You always field all the real pervs who come in, and I'd imagine it would really wear you out, right?" he questioned, hoping to help Niall see the bright side, but it was obvious he wasn't interested by the way the blonde's cheeks heated up and his eyes burned. His blue irises shone brighter than usual in contrast to all the red.

"I don't want a break," he mumbled because it's clear if he talks any louder, he'll cry. Liam can hear how runny his nose is by how stuffed up his voice sounds, and he wants to throw an arm around Niall's shoulder, but every time he's done so in the past, the boy has looked stricken.

"Why not?" Liam settled for asking, and Niall rubbed his nose off on his sleeve.

"I don't need one. I don't need one even a little bit. I gotta… gotta keep going on with it. I don't feel right if I don't keep going on with it. It makes me feel… bad. It makes me feel bad."

The way he was repeating himself made it seem like Niall was struggling to choose between what to hold back and what to say. Liam tried not to pry into the personal lives of his workers -it was almost always a shit storm of a sob story that he wasn't strong enough to carry- but Niall… well, Niall is allowed to say no to clients. He's allowed to tell them to stop or call someone in to _make them_ stop. Except Liam found him two hours after his last customer with a saucer-sized blood stain on the back of his pants and the same detached, dead look in his eye as always. This wasn't right. "Niall, you _need_ to take breaks. Like… like tonight could have been avoided. If it hurt, you could have asked him to stop."

"It always hurts, it was okay, I wanted it, I wanted it," Niall echoed, and a sick feeling twists in Liam's stomach, but he can't put his finger on why.

"But you're not… Niall, I don't understand. You're like… I mean… What's-"

"We're here," Niall cut him off as the cab rolled up to A&E, and Liam sighs but helps Niall out of the car, wrapping the towel around his waist to save him some embarrassment. Niall looks fragile and small with the big cloth swallowing him up. He's eyeing the hospital like he's beyond terrified, and Liam grabs his hand, but Niall's fingers are dead in his. Touches don't mean anything when they're from a prostitute. Touches don't mean anything _for_ a prostitute, either.

"Just stitches, maybe, and some medicine to help with the pain," Liam promised, and Niall nods a bit shakily, burying himself deeper into the towel and clearly ignoring the rust coloured edge he had been sitting on. Liam is ignoring it too. He doesn't make a move or take a step, so Liam takes it upon himself to drag the younger boy in and get him some help because God knows he needs it. Liam just isn't sure to what extent.

* * *

Niall curled up a little tighter on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to ignore the pain down below. His eyes have been shut for the past twenty minutes, and he can hear the other boys stumbling around the flat, trying to keep quiet out of kindness and pity, but he's pretty sure they all know he's awake. Deep purple smudges under Niall's eyes prove just how much trouble he's had sleeping lately, and so does the fact that he hasn't used any makeup or glitter to keep people from noticing proves how wrecked he is. Niall can't sleep. Niall can't eat. Niall can't _move._

He couldn't before all of this, either, but at least he used to be able to fake it.

The sofa dips as someone bounces onto the opposite side, and Niall groans as his whole body is rocked. He knows its Louis before he even opens his eyes. Something about it just tells him so. Following footsteps leave him unsurprised when a hand slips underneath his head and lift it up, his cheek pressing up against someone's leg - _Zayn's_ leg- when he's allowed to settle back down. The telly flicks on, and Niall's eyes blearily open, taking in Harry's toes up the coffee table in front of him and Liam's concerned face watching him and not the TV.

"Morning, sunshine," Zayn says lightly as he rouses himself. He can remember just a few weeks ago when he was pressing himself as far away from Zayn as possible and they were both asking unanswerable questions. Now Niall is too exhausted and hurt to move, and despite there obviously being a question mark on everyone's lips, no one is saying anything.

"Good morning," Niall replied. There were two more weeks until he could get back to work, two more weeks until Niall could go back to normal. Until Niall could feel a bit of familiarity. Until he could feel like he was the one holding his own life in his hands and everybody would stop _looking_ at him like this.

Everyone is letting him wake up, he realises. Nobody's saying anything, not even Louis who talks over every programme. He didn't want to have to pretend to feel awake and chipper, and he considers falling asleep right here on top of Zayn, but then there are fingers carding through his hair, and the boys are talking to him.

"So what's got into you lately?" Harry asks. The tone in his voice makes him sound a bit obnoxious and a little harsh, but Niall knows Haz, and he can tell by the way his face is scrunched up that he is concerned.

"I dunno. I don't feel good, and…. And I miss working," he replied honestly. He hasn't got the energy to act like nothing is wrong. Niall doesn't have the energy for anything.

The room pauses for a beat until Louis pipes up. "I don't buy that for a second, actually. Niall, you always look scared shitless when you're out on the floor, and I don't believe its part of your fucking act. Quit taking the piss, and tell us what the fuck has you _like this_ ," he demanded. Louis sometimes was incapable of speaking from anywhere but a place of frustration when it came to serious, potentially emotional conversations, and it was really fucking annoying.

"Shut up, Louis," Niall sighed, burying his face into Zayn's pyjama bottoms. Not his skirt or his tights, but his _pyjama_ bottoms. That's important for some reason, though Niall isn't sure why.

"No! C'mon, I'm not the only one who has seen it Niall. I think… I didn't know you at first, so I could ignore it, but now we're friends, and friends spill their shit to each other, so tell, cause it seems to me like you don't really belong here, and maybe a torn dick-hole is a prime opportunity to get you the hell outta here," Louis snapped, and Niall's stomach squirmed. Zayn's hands combing through his hair are barely helping him to calm down.

"Shut _up_ , Louis. I don't _wanna_ get out of here, I wanna get back to _work_. I _hate this_. I _hate_ being out of commission, I don't… there's no control when I'm like this. There's no power. I'm a _mess_ , I'm _weak_ , it _sucks_ , I _hate this_ ," he replied, and Louis's face goes red like he's about to explode.

"Control? _Fuck,_ Niall. You're a sub beyond _anything_. I heard you promising to crawl like a bitch the other day for some random guy, and you're telling me you don't feel in control _now?_ Where the _fuck_ is the control in being _submissive?_ You fucking pretend to let guys _rape you_. You pretend to let them _molest_ you, Niall. How could you _possibly_ feel powerful doing that?" he argued, voice rising. And Niall didn't expect Louis to understand, what with him being a dom and all, but he didn't have to yell.

His heart feels like it's boiling, and each breath is harder than the last. "Niall, just take it easy," Zayn goaded, his hand switch from his hair to his back. Niall is instantly reduced to a flinching, terrified mess, and he doesn't know _why._

"It's not pretending. It's not pretending. It's not _pretending_. Leave me alone. Leave me _alone_. I _hate this_ ," he begged, and the room falls into a petrified silence, car horns and Niall's shaky breathing the only sounds to be heard. Liam, who had otherwise been quiet, calculating, and thoughtful for the entire time, leans forward in his chair, and Niall shuts his eyes. Everyone is looking at him _terrified_ , and he can't bare it anymore. He never _asked for this_ , he just wanted to sit and wait for his bum to feel better so he could tear it apart again.

"Niall…" Liam says gently, and Niall just wants to collapse into tears.

"Fuck, _what?_ Just shut up, Liam. Shut up. Everybody stop _talking to me_ ," he demanded, squeezing his eyes up tighter. There's a thump and some footsteps before he senses Liam crouching in front of him, and he hesitantly opens his eyes, only to catch Liam's gaze and be transfixed.

"No. I won't shut up. You are going to _listen_. This can be a lot of things for you. This can be a release, like it is for Harry. It can be a way to help you feel desired or wanted or whatever, like it is for Zayn. It can be a way to take control, like you said and like I know it is for Louis. Or it can help give you a sense of self, like it does for me," Liam explained, and Niall doesn't miss the way his housemate's bodies tense and faces scrunch up as their names are mentioned. "What this _cannot_ be, Niall, is rape. Are you telling me that this is rape for you?"

Niall's about to say no because it really is him choosing to let this happen to him, it's just sometimes he felt shitty and he had… he had certain obligations to satisfy for himself that made things all the more difficult; however, before he gets the chance to figure out how to communicate this information, Zayn whisks him up in his arms, holding him terribly close and not thinking about how such jarring motion might hurt him. "Shit, Niall, shit. _Shit_. It _is_ rape for you isn't it? Why are you letting this happen? Why are you doing this to yourself?" he asks, and Niall has never heard Zayn sound quite like that before.

"No, it's not," he replied, shaking a bit as Zayn coddled him. "You guys are all being ridiculous, I choose to go back with them. I _choose,"_ he argued, but the way Zayn is holding him proves that he doesn't agree, or doesn't understand, or doesn't believe him. Harry clears his throat.

"Not even I wanna have my ass cut up, Niall. Honest, I don't. You just let it happen…" he said slowly, wringing his hands together, and Harry looks small and young as he watches him watching back. Everyone looks small and young.

They never do this. They never try to pry into each other's personal lives like this. The thing about prostitution is that _no one should do it_. No one comes into it from a place of happiness or healthy thinking. Somewhere between 75 to 95 per cent of prostitutes were sexually abused before going into the business, and the rest couldn't be doing it with a happy heart (even if Harry acted like it sometimes). Obviously, they all had some serious red in their ledgers, but up until now, it had always been the elephant in the room. The elephant they were all collectively fine with pushing into the corner and ignoring until it hopefully went away. So why did they have to start addressing it now?

And why did they have to start with _Niall?_

"You guys just don't understand. You don't understand, and fuck, Zayn, do you have to be so suffocating?" he asked, tears finally giving way and streaming down his cheeks as he pushed himself away from Zayn and untangled himself from his arms. He stands up shakily, looking at the boys in front of him for a minute on wobbly legs before hobbling away to the safety of his room.

Shit, did this _suck_.

* * *

Louis's fingers shake as he struggles to ring his eyes with black liner, swears stumbling from his lips as he messes up on repeat. His heart feels like it's tripping over its own feet, what with it's erratic beating, and Louis is certain this isn't healthy for him. He's probably going into cardiac arrest or some shit, but he'd rather stand at the mirror and put on his face than deal with it.

If that doesn't explain Louis's life in a nutshell, he doesn't know what does.

It's just that sometimes Louis forgot why he was where he was, why he needed what he needed… Niall had always been that little nagging reminder, what with his innocent blue eyes and the terror that flooded into them before he let himself be taken, but now every time Louis looked at him, it was like… _shit_.

Some little switch in Louis's head must have been flipped off because all of a sudden it was like all he could think about was little Louis, and how scared he was, and how hurt and confused he was, and Louis was all grown up now, but he still felt all of those things so much, it was like he was constantly choking. It didn't matter what he was doing, Louis couldn't get enough air in.

He didn't understand how Niall could let himself be dominated. He didn't understand how he could let himself be powerless, let alone feel in control when he did it. Louis never felt in control and it was all because of… Well, okay.

Okay.

Okay, see, Louis wasn't always the dominant one. In fact, the first dozen or so times, he was just as unsuspecting and submissive as Niall pretended to be. But you couldn't blame him. He had only been six-years-old his first time at it, and his daddy had said it would be fun, and he didn't know any better, and-

And he was only six. He was only six, he was only six, he didn't have a choice. Louis wasn't six any more, but he felt six, he felt six, he felt six, shit, shit, shit, shit, he was slipping. _Fuck,_ was he slipping, over something that only happened a handful of times. It wasn't fair how crazy he turned out. It wasn't fair how much he needed to be in command. Louis could've been normal, he could've been so normal, but he was six, he was six, he was six, he was _raped._

By his _dad_ , what the _fuck?_

Okay, okay, never mind, Louis didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to think about it even a little bit, but holy _shit_ , did it feel like he was crumbling in on himself.

His eyeliner falls from his fingers and clatters into the sink, and Louis's shoulders fall with it. He grabs the edge of the basin, trying to find breath in his lungs, but he can't breathe, he can't do anything. His whole world is falling apart out of nowhere, and he couldn't figure out _why._

* * *

Zayn numbly pulls on his clothes for the night, thin, teal, thigh-high socks slipping over his knees. He ties them off with ribbons to keep them up, and searches through his closet for his aqua and green mini sundress to pair with them.

Zayn has a wardrobe full of dresses and skirts, but he's coming to realise he doesn't particularly like any of them. It's always been very clear that Zayn identifies as a boy, even to the patrons at the Cocktail. He just wears girly clothes and girly make up; he doesn't delve into any of that wig and padded-bra wearing stuff, it's too much for him. The clothes he wore weren't about gender identity, but more… more about _looking_ right.

The whole point of Zayn's look, of his gimmick as a prostitute, of his appearance was for people to think he looked… well, looked pretty, as stupid as it sounded. He wasn't really sure. He didn't exactly know how it escalated or whatever, but he can remember realising that girls got to make themselves look nicer with makeup, and Zayn just so _desperately_ wanted to look nicer.

He pulled his dress on over his head, adjusting the skirt so it flared out from his waist in the right way and the top so it looked more feminine on his chest. "Can I give you a compliment, or will you bite my head off?" Harry asked from the doorway, and Zayn nearly jumped three feet into the air, he was so surprised.

"Depends. Is it gonna be grossly sexual, or are you gonna say something pleasant for once?" he retorted, laughing in the end, though it's a bit forced. Zayn is never happy when he's looking in the mirror. Harry shook his head, a smirk painted across his soft features.

"Something pleasant. I think… I think all of our foundations are a little too rattled to get away with our usual shit, yeah?" He has one eyebrow raised, and his expression is familiar but different. It's like his muscles are set into the same provocative face by habit, but his eyes read as something more innocent. It's refreshing and weird, and Zayn looked down with a snort.

"It seems like we've all just realised how crazy we all are," he said lightly, thoughts falling to Niall, and himself, and how shaken Louis looked lately, and the list of reasons Liam had said. Harry stepped into the room a bit further.

"Yeah. Like… you need to be _desired_ or some shit."

"And you need a release."

Harry hopped up on his bed, crossing his legs and Zayn nearly laughs at the squeaking noise Harry's purple pleather pants make, but something about the moment seems a little too serious for that. Normally he is at odds with Harry, but Zayn has found when he's not being nasty, he's not so bad. "I just came in to say that I've always liked that dress, and you should wear it more often." Harry looks uncomfortable, but it's one of the first not perverted compliments Zayn has gotten in awhile.

"Thanks," he says easily, though it doesn't sink in the way he thinks it should. Harry leans his back against the wall, and Zayn has to keep getting ready, so he continues on and lets him watch while he curls his lashes and sweeps on mascara. "Sometimes I think I could go without mascara," he tests, wondering if Harry would agree that he doesn't need this one bit of makeup or if he would goad him on.

"Whatever you think is best," Harry promised, and Zayn's disappointed that he doesn't pick either.

* * *

"Don't fuss with your makeup, Zayn, you could go out in a bin liner and people would still snatch you up, honest," Niall says to get his attention as he takes up the barstool next to him. Zayn's compact mirror snaps shut, and he looks shocked. Niall credits it to his sudden presence. "Have you noticed anyone come in that I might do well with? I wanna take someone to the back before Liam regrets his decision to let me come down and sends me back upstairs."

"I… oh, I dunno, maybe… bin liner?" Zayn asked, and Niall reached over to absentmindedly thumb away an eyelash from Zayn's cheek.

"Yeah. You look good, Z. You don't need anymore lipstick," he promised, grabbing the red tube out of his hands and setting it on the counter. "But okay… okay, I need a John now, all right? All right? Cause it's been so long, and I just… help me spot one out, all right? I don't have the patience to wait for someone to come to me." Niall's cheeks are flushed and he can't stop wringing his hands together. Zayn seems to be in a similar state, awkwardly coughing into the crook of his elbow.

"Shit… um. Maybe you shouldn't push it, Ni. I know you've waited as long as the doctor said, but still… let… let someone come to you. And Niall, I haven't even gotten to put any on…" he said, rubbing his lips together, and Niall's eyebrows etch together.

"You're lips are fine, Zayn. You look incredible," he replied, trying to blow past this part of the conversation and focus on what was really important. "What do you _mean_ don't push it? I haven't gotten a client in ages; have you forgotten this is _money_ we're talking about? And anyways, I need this. I just wanna know if you saw anyone who might be interested in me."

"If it's money you're worried about, I can spot you until you're back on your feet." Zayn is missing the point entirely, and Niall bounces in his seat a little bit, frustrated.

"No, Zayn, I _am_ back on my feet," he promised, and he chokes a little as the other boy places his hands on either side of his waist, looking him straight in the eye. It's weirdly intimate, and Niall's not used to this kinda thing… Because as often as he has sex, he never has intimacy, and shit, when was the last time someone looked him directly in the eye?

"I'm just worried, okay? You could understand why I might be worried. You've never seemed to like this, Niall, and I don't want you going back into something that you don't have to, you know? Why don't… why don't you just wait another day to make sure you're positive about all this," Zayn asked -nearly begged- and Niall squirmed out of his grasp.

"No. I'm fine. _I'm fine_. I'll do this on my own like always," he scathed, jumping off the barstool, and he doesn't like how everyone is treating him like an infant. Niall can do this. He has always been able to do this, and no one had a problem before. All because he slipped up one time… shit.

An arm slinks around his shoulders, and Niall's face goes into place, all big doe eyes and glittery cheeks. "Niall, maybe you should go back upstairs," Louis offers, and Niall's innocent expression instantly falls when he realises it's his co-worker, not a client. "You seem a little shaken."

"I always seem a little shaken, Louis, that's my _thing_ ," he bit, too irritated by his conversation with Zayn to deal with any of the same shit from Louis, and he steps out of his hold only to bump into Harry's chest, the taller lad running his fingers through the hair Niall had spent ages perfecting.

"Yeah, but you're not doing so well, you should be resting," Harry mused. Niall's hands frantically adjust his hair back to hopefully something like he had it, and he stomped his foot in frustration like a two year old. All of this caring is getting too much for him, and he can feel angry tears welling in the back of his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. If this is what his flatmates are like when they see him get upset just once, then fuck all if he's letting it happen again.

"I'm doing fine. Don't you guys have _clients_ you should be catering too, or something?" he asked, and everything is welling up in his chest. Shit, maybe this is too much, but it's too late to back out now. Niall doesn't want to give anyone the wrong idea. He needs this job. He needs this job to feel good about himself, to feel in control. No one was listening to his wants or needs. No one _ever_ listened to his wants or needs, and now everybody was _touching him_ -and touching him in ways that were kind, no less- and he could throw up. Niall could honestly throw up.

"What's going on over here?" Liam asks, strutting up in a tiny fire fighter's uniform, and it's only then that Niall realises Zayn, Liam, Louis, and Harry have him encircled, concerned eyes trained on him. "Niall, why are you crying? Is this too much? Fuck, I knew it was too much, let's get you back upstairs, okay?" Liam asked, and Niall breaks away as his manager moves to lead him up the steps. Shit, he is crying. He hadn't noticed he was crying.

"No, I'm fine, it's you all who are too much. All I want is a dick inside me, why is that so complicated for all of you to grasp?" he asked, and his eyes fall on his one regular (Michael was it? Mitchell? Morgan? Oh, whatever, it started with an M….). His heart soars and sinks at the same time, and he rushes over to him, beyond ecstatic he was there and ignoring the worried stares of his co-workers on his back. He near collapses into his lap, and a thousand words he doesn't mean tumble out of his mouth as he plants sloppy frantic kisses up the guy's jaw. "Hi, hi, hi, I'm so fucking happy you're here, I've missed you. I need you to teach me. Teach me, please, teach me, I wanna crawl for you again. Put me on my knees. Take me, take me," he begged, and before long, he was being _carried_ to the back bedrooms, and Niall felt like he was soring as reality came crashing down on him.

* * *

Harry feels like an idiot as he limps upstairs after a long, long night of getting his ass split open. He doesn't know how many more of these he has in him… You'd think after months of the same thing, he'd be thoroughly stretched and ready to handle anything, but it's not quite like that. Not with Harry because he has it _so_ rough and so intense, and he's pretty sure a body isn't supposed to go through that over and over. Or at least not in the way he has been doing it.

It's just stupid. It's stupid how he continually does this to himself. It's stupid how he feels like he has to make it hurt to somehow make it better. That's not how this is supposed to work, and it sucks that he feels that way.

"Oh, good, Harry, since you're up and things, would you mind grabbing me a water bottle? Unless your hands are nasty still or something. Have you washed your hands?" Niall asks, nose crinkling up, and Harry shakes himself out of his stupor enough to follow what the little blonde is saying.

"Oh, um, I cleaned up before I came upstairs. Just haven't showered yet," he assures him, snagging a water bottle from the beyond ancient fridge in the kitchen and passing it to him. He stands by Niall for a moment. He's not sure what's keeping him there, but there are words bubbling up his throat that he can't seem to sort out. Meanwhile, Niall eyes him curiously. The lad was wearing sweatpants eight sizes too big for him, and a t-shirt that's neck dipped off on shoulder. His hair was plastered to his head, obviously wet from a recent shower, but he was out in the living room, watching reruns of Full House instead of in bed, sleeping, like he usually was after he washed up. Harry bites his lip. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I dunno. Just… just… Well, this is all a little much, isn't it?" Niall asked with a raised eyebrow, and Harry squirms for a second, prompting him to continue. "Like… like we've all been walking on eggshells around each other, which makes it feel like we _should_ be walking on eggshells, and I dunno about you, but the more crazy and messed up I feel, the more guilty and dirty I feel for being in this business, and like… I dunno, it just sucks, you feel me?" he asked, and Harry lets out a big puff of air because, yes, _yes_ , that's _just_ what he was feeling and it was relieving to know he wasn't the only one.

"I feel you. And… and for the record, I feel you on some of the things you were talking about back when all this started. About needing this to feel in control? I guess Louis doesn't get it cause he dominates people like us, but there's like… like… like…"

"It's powerful to be able to _choose_ to be submissive instead of being forced into submissiveness," Niall completed for him, his demeanour small and gentle, and Harry takes a seat in the recliner next to him, folding his legs up tight against his chest. He hums for a second.

"Yeah… yeah. I guess. Sorta. For me, like… Like, Niall, I really, really, really don't want to be a prostitute, you know? Like… like, don't laugh, okay? I know you're gonna laugh when I say this, but just hear me out. I… I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher," he states, and Niall cracks a smile. A small laugh from the blonde sends red creeping up Harry's cheeks and he gives him a light shove. "I said don't laugh! Ugh, I knew you would… Anyway. I wanted to be a teacher, but I'm not… I'm not smart, you know? And I'm not good at anything, and I failed out of university, and I didn't have money for food, let alone housing, and my parents wouldn't help, they've not spoken to me since they caught me making out with my first year crush, Joey Dalvekio, in my bedroom, so… so…"

"So you came here?" Niall asked, and Harry nodded meekly. It's the most words he's probably ever strung together in his life, and it's a little overwhelming. Fortunately, Niall _is_ innocent, if not in the conventional way, and he isn't hard to open up to.

"Yeah. I dunno. I'm such an idiot. S'just… a brothel was free lodging kind of instantly, and… and fuck, that was the only reason, really. It was stupid, I'm stupid, I'm so _stupid_ ," he repeated, wringing his hands together like a psycho. He gulped down air, not really sure how to explain himself. "S'just so much easier to pretend I love it than to admit I hate it," he voiced, and it feels like a toxin leaving his system. Niall looks at him very seriously for a moment.

"You're not stupid," he eventually says before backpedalling. "Or… if you are, you're not any more stupid than the rest of us. We're all self destructive assholes, so don't worry about a thing," he promised, and Harry nods. It's slowly dawning on him that this is the first conversation he and Niall have ever truly had. Usually Harry's too gross and Niall is too nervous for them to really ever talk without a buffer in between, and Harry wonders if this could have happened sooner if he ever could have just let himself drop the act.

But those thoughts are being processed in the back of Harry's brain. He has more important things to focus on now. He bit his lip, shoulders shaking in spite of himself. "I don't… I don't want this, though. I don't want to be a hooker, Niall. I wanna be smart. I wanna be good. I don't wanna be here, I want out, I want out, I hate being _stuck_ like this," he spoke, voice cracking and breaking. Harry is beyond embarrassed, and he wonders how much he would have to pay Niall for the other boy to take him out back and kill him. Harry can't handle being seen getting so emotional. He just hated his life, and he hated having to pretend so much, and fuck, he just wanted to _walk normally_ again. Niall leans over and puts a hand on his knee. It's not any kind of promise or threat, and it's refreshing for Harry to experience. It's just a comfort.

"We're gonna get out, Harry. This can't last forever," Niall promised. Harry nodded, gaping like a fish to try to get air in and settle himself before he started crying, when a laugh escapes his lips.

"Eighty year old prostitute Niall would be a sight to behold. Don't think glitter would be able to get you looking young then."

"I don't think so either," Niall replied with a smirk, reaching to grab both of Harry's hands. "For what it's worth, Haz, I don't think… I don't think I want to do this much longer either," he promised. His eyes seemed unusually large and hopeful, and Harry can't help but reach out and kiss Niall through his hair.

"Then we'll do that, buddy. We'll get out, promise," Harry swore. He really hopes he can keep his promise.

* * *

Louis feels a hand rest on the small of his back while he serves drinks to a table filled with innocent bar attendees. (Just because the Cocktail had prostitutes, it didn't mean every customer _used_ them.) He instantly goes to bat it away. "I don't believe I said you could touch," he quipped. His in charge attitude nearly drops for a second when he turns to see the man with his hands on him and realises he's well over two hundred pounds and probably near six foot two inches tall. He was a mammoth, and it was all Louis could do not to take a step back.

"I don't usually feel the need to ask for permission," the man practically purred, and something about this guy doesn't sit right with Louis. He's not the same kind of frail and shrimpy inside that Louis is used to dealing with. However, no matter how long Louis has been in the game, there's still a first time for everything, and he's willing to take this guy on. Besides.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Louis smirks and snaps his whip out of his pocket, looping it around his soon-to-be client's neck and pulling him down so he could kiss him properly. He pulls away. "When you're with me, honey, you have to ask before I let you do anything, and I only say yes when you let me do what I like," he said with a smirk, and the obviously older man upturned his nose a little bit.

"How about you just show me to where we can make things a little more… private, would you?" he asked, and Louis is more than happy to comply. He hates spending wasted time out on the floor for crappy tips and ogling eyes that don't have to pay his usual fee. He _is_ running a business after all.

Louis closed the door to the bedroom behind them and turned to face his new client, whip at the ready. "Okay. So here's how it's going to be, first- fuck, what are _ffffmmmm hmhmm?!"_ Louis is cut off when the man grabs his wrists and violently forces him back into the door. His words end up muffled as a giant, thick hand is slapped over his mouth. His John merely smirks when he sees the fear in his eyes.

"No, love, you aren't about to tell me how this is going to go. I'm going to tell _you_. You think you're in charge? I'm going to _show you_ what it means to be 'in charge'. Now get on your knees," he demanded, fingers still clamping his mouth shut, and confused, terrified tears well up in Louis's eyes. "I said get on your _fucking knees!"_ the man yelled and Louis instantly slumped down, unable to stop himself from crying. When did he get so weak? When did he of all people allow himself to be pushed around?

Part of him realises he's always been like this, and his job is just a desperate attempt to cover it up. Louis hasn't been strong since his dad fucked his ass for the first time, and he hasn't been strong since.

"Now strip," his attacker ordered, and Louis doesn't even try to fight back, his hands going up to unbuckle the corset he was wearing. It falls off his body before the man above him kicks him in the ribs. "Not you, _me._ Take off my pants, bitch. I'm not one to waste time," he said gruffly, and Louis can only do what he asks, trembling fingers unzipping his aggressor's trousers and slipping below the waistband of his underwear to expose him.

The hand is removed from his mouth, and instead pulls his hair roughly and drags his head towards him. It's obvious Louis is expected to suck, but he can't, he can't, he can't, he can't, _"LIAM!_ " he screams brokenly, nearly gagging as he says it, and the stronger boy is bursting through the door and picking Louis off the floor in seconds. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not… _he's_ not. Liam, I-"

Louis doesn't bother to finish himself because it's clear that Liam understands as he leaps up and punches his John straight in the face, and it's soon after that Zayn and one of their other workers -Josh- come in to help. Zayn arches an eyebrow at him as he drags the struggling man from the room, but Louis is too preoccupied with feeling little and addressing the concerned Liam kneeling on the floor in front of him to acknowledge the look.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he flipped the tables on me. I couldn't handle it, I couldn't… I couldn't… I dunno. I dunno, I'm sorry, I just…" It seems like Louis can't get a word out tonight. Fortunately, Liam is beyond understanding.

Louis is taken aback a bit as Liam cups his face in both hands, looking at him intently, and it's weird because no one makes a lot of eye contact with him now that he's a prostitute, and it's oddly warm, and Louis is more used to _heat_. "Don't be sorry. You should always call if you feel uncomfortable, yeah? And you dominate everybody for a reason, Louis. That's how you feel like… like…"

"Secure."

"Right, secure," Liam said with a slow little nod. His cowboy outfit is tight on him, and his sheriff badge is cheap and ironic. He paused for a moment, eyes clearly skimming over Louis's features, though he's not sure why. "Louis, if someone threatens your safety like that, I _always_ want you to say no, okay? _Always_." Louis scrubs his nose off on the back of his hand and shudders a little bit, trying to grasp a hold on himself because it's been so hard to breathe lately, and now it feels near impossible.

"Liam… Liam, I'm no _good_ at saying no," he replied. Louis doesn't mean to sound like a broken record, but every time he talks, it's like he can't keep up with himself and he has to start over. It's all too overwhelming for him. He was so dumbfounded by everything that was happening that he could barely register himself crying, let alone Liam thumbing away tears.

"Whaddya mean, mate? You just did a great job saying no to that guy. Don't you remember? You called for me, and I came, and now it's all done and nothing bad happened. You said no. You did good," Liam promised, and all of a sudden, Louis is encompassed in a massive hug, and he's not sure how he feels about it. "C'mere, Lou. Just c'mere. It's okay, you don't have to cry, it's okay," Liam promises on repeat.

"It's not okay," he responded, his fingers clawing at Liam's back, fisting at his shirt. This is so weird. It's so weird to be held, Louis is so not used to being _held_. "Why doesn't anyone understand that no means _no?_ Why does everyone do this to… to me?" he questions, broken-hearted and honestly crushed. He is choking on tears, coughing into Liam's shoulder, and his wet cheeks itch from crying. Liam hums, and the vibration in his chest rattles through Louis.

"I dunno, Lou… I dunno. What do you mean by everyone? Who else has done this to you? Have you been letting bad things happen?" Liam asked, and Louis forces himself further into Liam, almost like he's trying to hide. This is too much. This is just _too much_.

"No one… no one… no one _here_ ," he eventually sputters out. "No one here, just… Fuck, I dunno, shit from my past, Liam, I don't wanna talk about it," he demands, except he does want to. He wants to talk about it a lot. He can see his dad, and he can feel himself getting fingered open all over again, and he feels six-years-old. Louis is six-years-old.

Liam kisses his temple.

"We'll just sort that out later, then, yeah? You want a good cry or are you going out on the floor again? You wanna get back in control?" Liam asked, and Louis takes a wracking breath. The air won't seem to settle in his lungs, but it's been like this for weeks. He snagged his corset off the floor and buckled himself into it, grabbing his whip and giving it a tentative crack.

"I'm gonna get back out there," he decides. He has let himself be too weak tonight, and he needs to scrounge up his dignity before the night was over. Liam merely nods and sees him out to the front with an arm around his shoulder as Louis frantically wipes away tears from his cheeks. He just needed to be the one to beat someone else up for a change instead of the other way around.

* * *

Liam would either be lying or a terrible person if he said he didn't notice the slow but steady break in his top four prostitutes. They were all so very clearly coming undone, whether it was near weeping on the floor or sobbing in the bedrooms… There were more instances of emotional breakdowns from his boys in the last few weeks than in the entirety of their lives together before.

He knows what caused it all. He should have never sat back and watched as Louis kept pushing and pushing and pushing at Niall. He should have never opened his big mouth and told everyone just why they each needed the business. He should have done something to help keep them all glued together, but he didn't, and now he felt like a raging idiot.

This is why he never pressed into any of their pasts before. It had always been sure to turn out terribly, and the way everyone was tiptoeing around each other proved his assumptions to be correct. However, despite how much Liam wishes they had never brought any of this up or started truly _talking_ to each other, he new it was what they all needed, and… and, well, now that they've started they might as well finish.

"Hey, I'm calling a flatmate meeting, if that's alright," he announces when he sees Niall, Louis, Harry, and Zayn all gathered in the family room and watching _America's Next Top Model_. Four sets of eyes flicker over to him, but Harry is the only one who quirks a smile.

"Is this about _someone's_ curly hair matting up the shower drain again? Cause I swear, it wasn't me. Some other curly bloke must've needed a shampoo," he teased, earning a laugh from Niall, a snort from Louis, and an eye roll from Zayn. Liam chuckled and shook his head.

"No… No, this is actually something a bit more serious. Would you mind turning off the telly, Zayn?" Liam asked, and Zayn complied with an arched eyebrow.

"More serious than Harry's shedding problems?" he questioned, slightly amused.

"Way more serious, I hate to say," Liam replied, and something about the way he announces it sucks whatever fun and happiness there had been before out of the room. He's pretty sure he actually catches Louis gulping, and Liam figures the time for beating around the bush is over, and things needed to get serious. "I think we should all tell each other why we're here."

"Cause no one hires a prostitute before breakfast," Louis replied, wiggling his fingers around. "It's too gross for sensible minds; you'd throw up your pancakes." It's obvious he understands what Liam meant by the question, but he clearly doesn't intend on answering seriously. At least not yet. Liam huffed.

"No, Lou. I didn't mean why you're all crammed on the couch instead of downstairs, I meant why you became a whore. You don't just… you don't just _become_ a prostitute, you know?" he asked, and Zayn's face screwed up.

"You want us to talk about it? _Why?_ Why would any of us even do that a _little bit_?" he asked defensively, and Liam sat on the floor where he was, pulling his knees to his chest and looking at the ashen white faces of all his friends. He had terrified them, but he knew this was going to happen, and hopefully it would all be for the best.

Liam cracked his knuckles, despite the bruises across them from punching Louis's attacker out. "Well… well, it was gonna happen inevitably right?" he asks, and he takes the boys' silence as confirmation. "Right. And… and I hate to say it, but you guys have all been a little… a little well… nuts lately. You've been crying on the floor and backing out of jobs, and I dunno. Maybe we should talk about this. Maybe we should figure things out."

"You told me it was okay to say _no_ ," Louis replied brokenheartedly, and Liam wants to reach out for him, but he knows that's not quite how it's going to work.

"It is, Louis… I'm sorry. I didn't want you to think that you're not… No, look, you're fine. Just… just… well, you're not fine, are you? You still look shaken from that guy trying to force himself on you, and I get it, but at the same time, it's really confusing, like obviously you should be upset, but I've never known you to freak out like that, Lou. I've never… I've never known any of you to get so scared… So let's work things out, all right? Let's just _talk_ to each other, it's what we've already been doing," Liam persuaded, and there's something that settles in all of his worker's faces, though they still don't look happy.

There's a long pause, and Niall squirms. "Well, I'm not gonna be the one who starts," the little blonde speaks up, voice cracking. He looks completely wrecked, and Liam knows it's his fault. He is guilty, sure, but he knows this is something that has to be done.

"I will," he says with a relieved huff. At least they weren't saying no. "I'm… I'm here because I don't really understand myself," he announced. He gets weird looks, and, shit, Liam had this all planned out five minutes ago but now every word of his prepared speech had somehow fled his brain. "I'm just… well, I'm not anybody. I don't know who I am. I've gone through all these weird phases in my life; I was Goth, I was preppy, I was a jock, I was in theatre, I was in band, I was in chess club… I kept reinventing myself cause nothing ever felt right, still nothing _feels_ right, and I dunno. I dunno, it's just nice putting on a costume and being someone new for the day. I don't have to worry about defining who I am or what I'm like because the costume does it for me. It's just… It's better this way. I dunno."

It's not eloquent or self-aware like Liam had planned, but at least he said some of what he intended to, and his message seems to get across. He catches Harry's eye from across the circle, and the other boy is looking at him had for a second before he pipes up. "I'm here because I was broke and no one would help me. So I helped myself and joined a brothel."

"Harry, that is probably the worst thing I've ever heard you say," Louis snorted, but he's sassy in his usual, somewhat gruff way with Harry, and the curly haired boy's lips quirk up in a smile before he punches Louis on the arm.

"Oi, I never said I liked it," he replied flippantly before softening his demeanour. "I… I actually kinda hate this. S'just there's not a way out, really, once you start, and… and I kinda had everyone fooled into thinking I'm like… the most revolting bottom whore to ever exist, so it was sorta impossible to just like… drop the act." Harry all of a sudden looks really young and really small, and it's kind of like there's a new light glowing around his shoulders. It's weird for Liam to see him like this, and he realises that Harry has never been stripped bare in his presence before. (Or, okay, Liam had seen him naked thousands of times, but he meant _emotionally_ , okay?)

"Hazza…" Zayn frowns, but Harry just shakes his head.

"No, let's not try to fix things, let's just keep going. I wanna get this over with," he demanded, and it's like a load falls off everyone's shoulders. Blatant admission, short and sweet, is much easier than a full out discussion over your life mistakes. Zayn presses his lips together, and Liam thinks he's clammed up for a moment before his eyes well up with tears and the younger boy is a sniffling mess in front of him.

"Okay… okay, well I'm here cause… cause…" Zayn's working himself up too much to talk properly, and Liam is about to get up and help him, but all of a sudden Niall is there, sitting in his lap and rubbing his back a bit. It calms him enough to continue. "I mean… okay, it sounds stupid, but I was bullied growing up? Just like… Just like… I don't know what to say about it, I just feel so ugly. I feel so ugly _all the time_ , and it's nice… it's nice to be wanted…. And I like when people call me pretty, even if they're being creepy when they do it."

"Good job, Zayn," Niall promises nuzzling his dry cheek against Zayn's wet one, and Liam's glad that his boys are able to tend to each other like this. It was stressful being the only one to fix things sometimes. Zayn looks a bit shocked as little Niall -never one to touch, let alone sit in people's laps and snuggle like this- cuddled into him; though, after a second, a smile breaks open across his features, and he laughs through his tears.

"Thanks buddy. How about… how about you go?" he asked. Niall doesn't look entirely enthusiastic about the idea, but Liam can see Zayn's tightening grip on the blonde's waist loosening the boy up. "I really wanna know what's going on with you, I'm so worried," Zayn promises, and Liam sort of feels like Harry, Louis and him are all intruding on a conversation between the two, what with the way Zayn was looking at him and Niall was looking back.

"Okay," Niall replies quickly. He practically breathes it out.

"Okay?" Zayn questioned.

"Yeah, okay…" Niall shifts himself away from Zayn and onto the couch a little further down where he's not touching anyone. His jaw is trembling in a way that makes everyone in the room hang on in anticipation, waiting for him to say something, but it's taking ages, and Liam isn't positive he intended to speak up at all.

"Niall, buddy, it's okay, just… Do you mind if I ask you? Would it be easier if I asked you?" Liam asked, and Niall nodded, obviously terrified. "Were you raped, buddy?" Niall lets out a bit of a gasp, and squeezes his eyes shut, nodding frantically.

"I was… I… I _was._ " The words fall out of his mouth, and it's not at all premeditated like the other boys' seem. They were short, and choppy, and broken apart like Niall hadn't meant to say them in the first place, but they snuck out of him. Liam can feel his jaw drop a little bit, even though he's not surprised. He wants to reach out for Niall, but Zayn is already there, and it's clear by the flinching that the pintsized boy didn't want to be touched now that he was thinking about things from his past.

"Niall, sweetheart, you shouldn't be doing this to yourself, then. You should stop, you shouldn't be here," Zayn tells him, clearly unable to stop himself from running his fingers through Niall's hair. The blonde stiffens and pushes him away.

"No, we said no fixing, just telling. Don't try to fix it," he demanded. Liam understands. There are some things you just can't make better, and this is one of them.

"I was raped too," Louis announced, sharp features turned up like he was above them all despite revealing something so embarrassing, and, okay, shit, yeah, if Liam was surprised by Niall, he was beyond shocked now. He can feel the atmosphere of the room slip into confusion, and Louis seems to sense it, too, because he rolls his eyes. "Well, it can't be that ridiculous. It's supposed to be something like 4/5ths of all hookers were at one point, it's crazier that Niall is the only other one of us who has…" Everyone is still reluctant to say anything, most likely because Louis always seemed to be the most content with his job, but Lou clearly thinks differently, and he spirals. "Look, it was when I was little. My dad used to wanna stick me, I dunno, I dunno what to tell you, I was only six-years-old, I didn't know what was happening, you can all stop… stop judging me now, I didn't _know_ ," he snapped, voice rising to a higher and higher pitch.

"Louis, we're not judging you, we're just… I don't know, _upset_ ," Liam promised.

"Yeah, we love you, Lou, that's rough to hear. We didn't… we didn't expect it with you," Harry was quick to chime in, and Louis nods his head, awkwardly crossing his arms over his chest in acceptance. No one says much for a few minutes, and Liam figures they're all just processing it like he is. It's not really a surprise. It's all pretty expected, but it was… well, it was weird to hear it all said. It was weird to know for sure and to understand what was going through all of the boy's minds when they were having sex with strangers… Zayn clears his throat.

"So no fixing?"

Liam nodded. "Right. No fixing."

* * *

Harry can't help but feel a little peculiar.

He is out on the floor like usual. His tiny pleather shorts are riding up his ass uncomfortably and his V-neck exposed most of his chest, but it's all rather run of the mill. It's not the clothes, or the place, or even the business that's getting him, really, but rather how everyone was _acting_ now.

"Hey, Harry, you doin' all right? You're tryin' to take it slow?" Zayn asked, as he walked by with a plate of mozzarella sticks and fried pickles. Harry nodded numbly, watching the other boy walk away, flared skirt swishing around his killer legs, and it's just so weird.

It's like all of a sudden they're all best friends. They hung out with each other a lot -pretty much constantly- but Harry hadn't noticed how quiet they had all been with each other until recently. Take now for example. Harry could see Niall and Louis laughing their heads off in the kitchen, both attempting to balance spoons on their noses. It was ridiculous.

He feels like they've all finally been reanimated. They've been dead and lifeless for so long, but now they were joking, and laughing, and doing weird shit with silverware in the kitchen, and checking up on each other, and now Harry knows that Zayn's favourite colour is red, and Liam's favourite animal is a turtle, and Niall's favourite singer is Michael Bublé, and he and Louis both think _Grease_ is the greatest movie of all time. It's weird, how much Harry smiles. It's weirder how he has actually been bothering to learn things about other people. It's weirdest how everyone keeps asking him as many questions as he asks them.

He'd say it was all just so fucking bizarre, except for Harry knows that this is how it's all meant to be and he's the one who's weird. He never wanted to be weird. He never wanted this life, and now he was starting to taste normalcy again. It would take some getting used to, but honestly, Harry could say he liked it. He loved it, actually.

"Hey, Harry, are you busy?" Liam comes up and asks, and Harry's not, he was just polishing out wine glasses. Liam takes a seat up at the empty bar -everyone seemed to prefer cuddling up in the snugs tonight- and gives him an encouraging smile. "I just wanted to tell you that I am proud of the way you've been taking care of yourself lately," he informed him, grin widening, and oh yeah, fuck all if that wasn't an _encouraging smile_ on Liam's face.

"The way I've been what?" Harry asks, nose crinkling like it always did when he was confused or upset, and Liam's positivity didn't damper in the slightest.

"Taking care of yourself. You know, no more trips out back, you've been walking easier, you've been smiling more… You're like… you're a new you, almost. It's really cool. I'm sorry for yelling at you all those times before. If I had known all it took to get you safe was a heart to heart, I would've done it sooner. Good job, buddy," Liam complimented before noticing a potential client walking towards him and getting up with a wink.

Harry watches him go and something weird flutters in his heart. This was all so much happy so fast, and Harry was eating up every second of it.

* * *

Zayn finished _A Room With A View_ not long after that conversation of could-have-beens with Niall, but he still couldn't seem to put it down. It's not like it was nearly as insightful as it seemed everyone else thought. It was a great book, and Zayn liked to be well read, but it wasn't as enjoyable as something sillier, like Harry Potter, or something more exciting, like Jack Reacher. What those books lacked, however, was relevance.

Or actually maybe the word was more _irrelevance_. _A Room With A View'_ s problems were completely opposite to Zayn's. He didn't have the luxury of caring about the same things the characters did, and he longed to have conflicts so insignificant (at least what Zayn considered to be so). _A Room With A View_ was an escape for Zayn in a way that other books weren't because it held all the things Zayn wished he could hate along with all the things he wanted to love.

"Hey, I think I officially owe you an apology."

A voice calls Zayn's attention off the page, and sunny freckles on white skin replace black words on white pages. "Niall…" he acknowledges. It's like he was waking up in a strange place, he's so confused and disoriented. Zayn has never liked leaving his imaginary world of books, but it seemed Niall was bright enough to keep him in reality for at least a little while.

"Yeah, that's me… Look, I… remember when I called you 'suffocating'? All right… all right, well, you're not," he promised, and Zayn arched an eyebrow. That had stung when it happened, yes, but it had been _ages_ since then. And Zayn knew more now. He could understand why Niall wouldn't want to be touched, especially not held onto like that. His confusion must be evident in his face because Niall squirms. "I just… I like hugs, sometimes, just maybe not when I'm crying, and I think I would like one now."

"You would, would you?" Zayn asked, sucking his cheeks in for a moment. There's an undercurrent to the words, and he's scared of treading too deep. Niall was asking him for a hug. Asking for touch is important to Niall, though it was probably better to say _consensual_ touch was important him. There's definitely something here. "From me?"

"Yeah, you," Niall said, ears growing pink, and it's as cute as anything. Zayn opens up his arms as means of invitation, and his book clatters to the ground as Niall bounces into his lap. "Thanks… You're just… You're pretty great, Zayn."

"Piss off."

"No, I mean it. You're all smart and caring and stuff… Even caring when we all didn't seem to care, and I just… I just think you're great," Niall promised, fingers walking up and down Zayn's leg. Zayn can't seem to catch his eye, and he flushes himself when he realises he's this close to Niall and he's not wearing a lick of makeup, let alone a proper outfit. All the boys have seen him fresh from bed in his pyjamas before, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing. "I think you're especially great when you just rolled outta bed in the morning and you're hair's all mussy," Niall laughed, like he can hear Zayn's thoughts, and it's all a little much.

"What spurred all this on?" he questioned. Sure, they've all been really close lately and starting to be softer and easier with each other, but he was pretty sure that this went outside their normal sort of deal. Niall shrugged.

"I just thought you could stand to hear a compliment or two," the blond said nonchalantly, and Zayn combed his hair off his face with his fingers. Niall was encompassing in a terrifyingly new way, and Zayn couldn't help but fidget.

"I thought we weren't doing any fixing," he questioned, and Niall looked at him with wide eyes.

"We're not. Promise. S'just… you look nice, and you should know."

"Yeah?" Zayn asked, licking his lips before pressing them together in a tight line. He doesn't feel like he looks nice. He hates how angular his features are, and his sharp, Middle Eastern nose disgusts him. His eyes are a murky shade of brown, and his skin looks sick and unhealthy. Zayn isn't attractive, and he knows it. He's known it since his first day of school, when Michael Rudolph pushed him down the stairs.

"Yeah," Niall promised, "I like your eyelashes. And you're cheekbones," he said casually, giving them a poke. "Plus your jaw is nice, and I think the gold in your eyes is _very_ pretty, and also, I think you sell yourself short," he listed, and Zayn's heart beats so hard, he thinks it might explode out of his chest.

"Oh, okay." He isn't quite sure how he's supposed to respond. It's a compliment, but it's not a question. It's not asking for anything, it doesn't have any ulterior motives. Zayn doesn't get complimented unless it's from a new customer.

Niall flashed him a smile. "Just trust me, yeah? Am I bugging you? Do you wanna go back to your book?" he asked, and Zayn shook his head.

"Nah, I would rather talk to you."

* * *

Liam takes a breath to steel himself and walks up to Louis, fully aware that there was really only one way the conversation he had planned could go. He snags him just as he's coming out of the bathroom. "Hey, Lou, would you mind if I talked to you for a second?" he asked, and Louis looks at him like he's crazy. It's only then that he realises his flatmate is only in a towel, his hair wet from showering after work.

"Can you wait until I've gotten dressed?" he asked, and Liam blushes eight shades of pink.

"Oh, yeah, of course… Go ahead and then we can… we can have a little chat or whatever," he said as flexibly as he possibly could, but Liam was nervous, and he really wanted to get this all out of the way. Louis looked at him sceptically but hummed in acceptance. "I'll be waiting here," Liam called after him as the boy headed to his bedroom.

"Sure thing," Louis replied before slamming his door.

Shit. It seemed like they were already getting off to a rocky start. Louis was so hard to pin down lately, and Liam knew that he was avoiding him. He had a feeling Louis knew _exactly_ what Liam wanted to talk about.

Part of Liam felt like he should just ignore Louis and his problems. After all, he was running a business and Louis was the only real prominent top that they had. He was probably their most requested, apart from maybe Harry, and Liam didn't want to upset Paul by convincing one of their best prostitutes out of the business. However, things were starting to change between him and the boys, and Liam had always cared about Louis. He cared about all his workers. He didn't want to see any of them in a place where they weren't happy or weren't safe, and Louis seemed to be struggling with both of those things.

It's been ten minutes since Louis disappeared, so Liam knocks on his door. "Hey, buddy. Were you planning on coming out any time soon? What's taking so long?" he asked, and he can hear Louis groan on the other side of the wall.

"No, I wasn't. Go away, Liam, I don't want to talk," he replied, and Liam bites his lip.

"I don't think I can agree to that, mate. You said it was all right just a moment ago. Why don't you let me in, and we'll have a little heart to heart, yeah? That doesn't sound so bad, right?" he asked, trying to keep his voice down because he knows Niall is sleeping, and Zayn is reading, and Harry is presumably watching the cooking channel per usual. He doesn't need to disturb anyone; plus, he has the feeling that Louis really doesn't want anyone else hearing.

"I don't need that, Liam. I need you to leave me alone," he grumbled, but the lock on the door clicks open, and Liam shakes a fist up to the sky in a mini victory celebration before going into the room. The place is a mess of strewn about clothes and leathers. Louis flops face first down on his bed, and Liam takes it upon himself to sit on the edge of his mattress. "I know why you're here. You're gonna try to tell me to quit like you did to Niall that one day, but you don't understand, because I choose to go back with these guys, and I like dominating somebody else, I need that, and it's… it's fine. It's fine," he says, but he doesn't seem too certain.

"But Louis, you're so threatened in this environment, you know? Like, I've seen it. Imagine if that guy had gotten anywhere with you. Imagine if someone else tried and succeeded. This is dangerous, buddy, and you've already had enough," Liam explained, not denying his intentions. They had always been obvious.

"Rapists don't need to hire prostitutes, Liam," Louis sighed, exasperated.

"Please don't try to tell me that it's nice guys who pay us to off 'em, Lou. I have the same job, remember? I know the dangers, you shouldn't be here."

"Well then please stop being such a _bitch_ , Liam, and shut the _fuck up_ ," Louis snapped back, and it took all Liam had not to roll his eyes. He knew Louis was going to get like this. The second anyone started talking about anything truly serious, Louis got mean. Liam was starting to understand it, though, and if he had been put in the same situation growing up, he might have ended up the same way. Lou obviously wouldn't want to ever be seen as vulnerable, and angry was a good front.

"I'm not being a bitch, and I'm not gonna shut up. You don't belong here, Louis. You have a bad reason for being here," he tried to reason. Louis merely scoffs and sits up on his bed, reaching Liam's eye level.

"What, and you've got a great one? Liam the only reason you're here is because you can't make a fucking decision. You 'can't decide who you are' or whatever? Bull fucking shit. I don't even get you. Putting on a costume doesn't make you a fireman, or a cop, or a cowboy. You're a _prostitute,_ Liam. And you could've been an accountant, or a teacher, or a chef or some shit, you just chose not to because you're an _idiot_ ," Louis spat.

"No, Louis, you're just an insensitive arse." And Liam can't help but get a little angry. It's one thing to be a pissy brat, but it's another to personally attack him. "You don't understand me. You don't understand my brain, and don't act like you do because you've never tried."

"I understand you enough," Louis said, sticking his nose up at him a little, and it took all Liam had not to punch him in the face.

"No, you _don't_. In high school or whatever, every kid has that magical epiphany when they stop being like everyone else and realise who they are as people, except for _me._ I'm just a mirror, Louis. I just copy what I see, I'm not a person, I'm other people, and I don't… I don't expect you to understand cause no one fucking does, but you know you're Louis… whatever the fuck your last name is, and I could very well be Liam Payne, but I could also be Niall, or Zayn, or Harry, or you. It doesn't matter cause there's nothing about me that's personal, nothing that's original. I'm not _anything_ ," Liam struggled to explain, but it's hard when he's angry like this and when Louis is being such a jerk.

"Your last name is _Pain?"_ Louis asked. It's all he says in response, and Liam is torn between screaming his head off due to the mounting frustration or just laughing because he's so done with this kid. He settles on just snorting and shaking his head.

"P-A-Y-N-E, but yeah. What's yours?" he asked. Louis looks up at the ceiling.

"Tomlinson… Shit, haven't thought about that in awhile… My last name is Tomlinson," Louis repeats, and Liam just nods, silent for a moment. It's weird, never needing your last name. It's weird that your best friends wouldn't know it. This is all just weird.

"You know… It's okay that you have to be in control, and I'm happy you at least found _something_ to give you that, but you could… you could always find something else," he tried again. Liam is still pissed, like… really pissed, but it's the first time Louis has seemed even remotely open since the beginning of the conversation, and there are some opportunities you just have to snatch up when they're in front of you.

"Like what?" Louis asks, and it's not a straight out rejection.

"Like, I dunno. You could be anything. Anything else, anyway. There's control to be had everywhere, Louis, especially now. You're not that little six-year-old anymore. You're smarter and stronger now, and you've lived through some raw shit. You can handle yourself. You know how to say no now." Liam is honestly trying his best to make Louis understand. As frustrating and stubborn as he is, Liam loves him and he wants more for him.

Louis turns his cheek and presses his lips together. "I feel six most of the time," is all he says, and Liam's heart concaves a little for him. "I don't want to talk about this anymore… but I can think about it. I can think about this stuff, it's a lot all at once," he explained, waving a hand in the air, and Liam nodded in understanding. Louis pauses and then says, "And maybe you can think about it too, cause you don't belong here either."

"All right. We'll both think about it. It would be good for us to get out," he replied, hesitantly leaning forward before -yes, no, wait, shit- he placed a kiss on Louis's temple. Louis looks at him with big eyes, but Liam ran out of the room before either of them get to talk about it.

* * *

Louis has honestly been going out of his brain since his talk with Liam. Like, yeah, okay, fine. Say all this stuff about wanting what was best for him and then go on and kiss his cheek while you're at it. Like, fuck you Liam. Fuck you, cause that made _no sense_.

But that wasn't the only thing Louis had on his mind.

It's a bright and sunny day outside, but Louis is holed up in the living room with Niall, the little blonde getting paler and paler and Louis using more and more spray tan with every passing day. This conversation with Liam was sitting heavily in his chest as Niall mindlessly scribbled stick figures on the backs of all the Cocktail's kitchen's ordering lists. Louis watched, all the similarities and differences between him and the blond bubbling at the edges of his vision until he can't help but ask. "Niall, how do you let yourself be submissive?"

Niall looks up from his colouring, eyes widening as his hands twist around themselves. He looks up at the ceiling and stares for a moment, and Louis would be nervous except they've all been talking a lot more with each other, and he knows this is what Niall does when he wants to answer truthfully and seriously but can't figure out how to say what he needs to.

Louis is quick with his tongue, but Niall is slow and it takes him time to think of what to say when he wants to say it properly.

"Um… Okay, well, you know how me and Zayn always get freaked out when you and Haz and Liam watch House? But you don't cause you make people bleed lots of the time? S'like that," he eventually says, squirming uncomfortably in his seat, and Louis squints at him until he figures out what he's talking about.

"You mean until you're like… desensitized? You've bottomed like that so many times it doesn't bug you anymore?" he asked, and Niall shook his head frantically. He looks like a three-year-old put in his first preschool class, absolutely terrified and needing someone to hold onto.

"No, no… it's like… the goal though. Like maybe if it just… keeps happening over and over and _over_ , then the first time won't feel so… so terrible and won't mean so much," Niall explained, and Louis's brain clicked in understanding before a sick feeling twisted up in his stomach.

"So it really is like getting raped over and over every day."

Niall looked at him hopelessly, cheeks flushed and eyes starting to look a bit pink as well. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore, Louis," he replied. Louis is big enough to admit that he's pushing too hard, and anyways, he knows if he keeps going, he'll end up yelling. He gets up from the table abruptly, and goes to stand over Niall's work.

"Is that supposed to be Liam eating a taco?" he asked, pointing at one of the stick figures Niall had etched out, and the younger boy smiled.

"Yeah. And there's Harry eating a quesadilla. And you're eating a burrito, and me and Zayn are sharing nachos," Niall listed, pointing at all the tiny people, and Louis ruffled his hair.

"You keep doing how you do, Ni."

* * *

"This was a good call, Harry," Liam complimented. He's doubled over a rented pair of bowling shoes, tying his laces despite the excitement making his hands jitter. The sounds of pins crashing to the ground and bowling balls clacking against each other is abrasive but pleasant, and it's the first time he's done something normal in awhile… Harry can practically taste his life before this. It's comforting and familiar, and he misses it all so badly.

"I think so, too. Every day I spend in that dark, depressing flat another layer of my soul shucks off. It's good to be out doing something fun," he replied. He knows he's done something noble just by looking over at the other boys across the floor. Zayn was helping Niall choose between a sky blue ball with clouds and a black one with the milky way painted over it; meanwhile, Louis was racing a pint-sized girl to grab a bowling ball with pink and yellow stripes.

It was interesting to see them in this new, less depressing setting. They had broken free of the Cocktail all together for the first time, all convinced the newer and lesser lads could hold down the fort for once, and it was like all the weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Everybody was smiling, and Harry was proud his idea had been the one to cause it. He was really starting to love these guys. It was good to see them happy, especially when he's the one who made it happen.

"You wanna put the names in for us, then?" Liam's voice cuts through his thoughts, and Harry flushes.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Good names or silly names?" he asked, going up to the keypad in front of their lane and the playful smack Liam gives to the back of his head makes the answer clear. A megawatt smile lights up Harry's face, he can feel it, and he goes to make the list of nicknames. "Okay… Niall can be… Snow Angel. Cause he is so pale; bless his heart. Louis can be… can be…"

"Tomlinass," Liam supplied, and Harry arched his eyebrow. "His last name is Tomlinson, and… and… I dunno, he's got a good bum, hasn't he?" Liam asked, floundering, and Harry laughed.

"Suuuuuuure," he snorted, and thought for a second as he typed the name in, sticky buttons making it far more difficult than it had to be. "You know, my last name sounds like a prostitute's. It's Styles, if you can believe it."

"Well then, you can be something fashion-y. Like ' _Chanel No. 5'_ or something like that," Liam suggested, and Harry couldn't help but laugh a little bit.

"That's a _perfume_ , Liam. You're an idiot," he teased, but Chanel No. 5 goes into the third name slot anyway. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he tries to figure out a good name for either of the two remaining boys. "You can be '10 Inch' cause of your massive-"

"Harry, there are children here!" Liam interrupts before he can say anything inappropriate, a flush passing over his features, and Harry can't help but snicker like the inappropriate little shit he is.

"They should know, too, Liam. Everyone should know. You should send in your measurements to Guinness Book of World Records!" he exclaimed, earning a shove from his manager, and he merely returned the gesture before going back to his names. "Also I'm gonna have Zayn be 'Cuddle Puddle' cause I mean… look at him over there," Harry said with an eye roll. He doesn't have to turn around to know Zayn probably has latched onto someone and that that someone is probably Niall, but he does, and he is proven right when he sees Zayn holding onto Niall's shoulders with the most contented face Harry has ever seen him wear.

Liam crossed his arms. "Sure, sure, but take it easy on him. He's out without makeup, and that's a big deal, all right? Let him do what he needs to," he instructed, and Harry waved a hand at him, entering the list and calling Niall over for him to bowl first. Niall practically bounces over, every bit as innocent and adorable as he played back at the Cocktail, while Zayn carries his ball over for him.

"We went with a night time sky," Zayn announced passing it over to Niall so he could take his turn. He looked up at the list. "Alright, I get Snow Angel and 10 Inch, but who the fuck is everyone else?" he questioned, laughing at the stupid names, and Liam groaned.

"I hate how you all _know that_ about me. It's one thing for strangers, but you're all annoying with it," he pouted, and Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Let it drop, Liam. And Zayn, the order of the list is Niall, Louis, me, Liam, you," he informed him. Niall comes back over and slots himself into Zayn's arms with his back pressed to the other boy's chest, looking at the board for himself.

"Hey, wait a minute, why am I Snow Angel? Also, shit, everybody stop looking up at the screen, I did terrible, don't look at my score," he demanded.

"Niall, how did you manage to only knock over two pins? I put the bumpers up and everything," Harry laughed, and Niall pouted, freckles disappearing beneath a blush.

"I did my best, don't yell at me," he complained, as Zayn ran fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It was somewhat of an unusual thing to watch. Niall normally would flinch and get all nervous whenever anybody touched him -or he would at least get a little tense- but he was currently _melting_ into Zayn, and Harry had noticed him readily being close to all of the boys.

"Who would ever wanna yell at you?" Zayn asked with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, "And you're name is Snow Angel cause of your white ass and your overwhelming innocence." When Niall didn't look thrilled, Zayn gave him a little shake. "Don't be pouty, I'm 'Cuddle Puddle' for fuck's sake. You know what? Fuck you, Harry. You don't get any Niall ass or Zayn snuggles for at least a week," he teased. Niall laughed and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You're bluffing. Also, I think I could manage without it," he replied, before his eyes widened with realisation. "Wait a second, where the fuck is Louis? _Louis!"_ he called.

" _What?!"_ Louis called back, and Harry whipped around to find him still fighting over the pink and yellow striped ball with some poor little girl.

"It's your _turn!"_ Harry yelled back, and Louis rips the ball from the poor girl's hands and comes over to join them, a smug smile on his face until he takes a look up at the scoreboard. His nose instantly crinkles and he looks over at Liam accusingly.

"This was _you_ , and I _know_ it was you," he snapped, and Liam smiled wolfishly at him, obviously proud of coining the new term 'Tomlinass'.

"I'm neither confirming nor denying. Now go take your turn, you little grump, we've been waiting on you," he demanded, giving Lou a smack on the bum, and Louis's eyes widen to the size of saucers. Harry assumes he's used to doing all the spanking, and not used to being the one who got spanked.

Harry half expects a meltdown here in the middle of the bowling alley -and the look on Liam's face proves he somewhat expected it, too- but something twists in Louis's face. He simply turns to go knock over his pins, seemingly judging Liam as trustworthy enough to do something like that without further consequences, and Niall breathes out in a huff.

"Close call," he said under his breath, but everyone but Louis can hear him.

"Yeah, Liam, you lucky _shit_ ," Harry replied, and Liam blushed eighteen shades of red.

"Can we just bowl?" he asked, hiding his face in his hands, and that's what they end up doing. Niall sits in Zayn's lap the whole time, groaning when Zayn has to take his turn, and Zayn groans just as exasperatedly when Niall has to get up and take his. Harry's sense of humour kicks in fully, and he makes at least a thousand jokes that everyone complains over but laughs at anyway. Louis is cranky as usual, but the good, funny kind of cranky that they all love him for, and Liam is a blushing stuttering mess for some reason Harry can't quite pick out.

The score ends with Louis, surprisingly enough, in dead last, Niall in fourth, Liam in third, Zayn in second, and Harry with the champion score. He sticks his tongue out at everyone at least a million times on the way home, despite how jealous Louis is, and he is practically tackled in a tickle attack on his way through the door to their flat.

They're all getting _really_ close, and Harry is starting to get _really_ happy.

* * *

"Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam, _LIAM!"_ Niall screamed from one of the back rooms, and Liam is there in a second, shoving a half dressed man off of a naked and shivering Niall. He threw some random piece of clothing towards Niall so he can cover up -though he's too preoccupied to look at what he tossed him- and whirled on the boy's assaulter.

"I dunno what happened! Things were fine, it wasn't even… normally it's kinda _darker_ with him, he just started screaming. I swear, I wasn't doing anything!" he man swore up and down, shouting to be heard over Niall who was still crying and repeating Liam's name over and over and over again. Liam's shoulders slump with a compressing sigh.

"I believe you, man. Niall's been a little fidgety lately," he said, and it was true. Niall had gone back with eight guys so far this week, and had called for Liam for seven of them. "Don't worry about it. And… and don't worry about the cost either. It's on the house."

"Are you sure? I feel really bad… I'm shit, but I'm not _that_ shitty. Fuck, and he's crying… Lemme at least pay you half price," he offered, and Liam shook his head.

"Nah, look, he's been doing this all week. You're good, buddy. If you're still in the mood, I'd recommend finding Sean, wherever he is out there. He's basically Niall, just a bit newer, honest," he offered, and the man nodded, collecting his clothes and exiting the room awkwardly. Liam took the opportunity to turn on the sobbing Niall, grabbing up both of his hands.

"Buddy, you're a mess," he commented, and Niall shook, he was crying so hard. "I don't think… I mean… Is this just a phase? Cause if this is how it is, Niall, I don't think you can do this job anymore, you know? You… you have to have sex with these guys. That's the point," he explained. Niall gasped, trying to get air in and reached for his boxers on the opposite side of the bed. He pulled them over his knees and up to his waist. He's not saying anything, and Liam sighs as he pulls his shirt over his head. He reaches out and helps him when the neck gets caught on his nose. "Niall, c'mon buddy. Talk to me. Do you think you need a break, or do you think you need to be something else?" he asked, desperate for Niall to admit that this part of his life could be over.

"What else could I _be_?" he hiccups, and Liam has to bite back a yelp of success. It wasn't a yes, of course, but it wasn't a no either.

"I dunno, Niall. You don't have to be something big right now. You could just have a little job. Maybe be a cashier or a bus boy or something. Anything, Niall. You'd be making as much as you would here… Probably more cause you… you can't do your job, lately." Liam knows it's a long shot for any of the boys to get out of here, but he's so close with Niall, he can taste it.

"Where would I go? I can't live here if I quit. I don't… I don't have anywhere to _go_ ," he replied through his tears, and Liam grabs him, wrapping him up in a hug. He can't help but notice how much stiffer Niall was in his arms after nearly getting raped again, and he wishes Zayn was there.

"Aw, buddy. You stay here, then. You stay _here_. I won't be mad if you need a little time to get on your feet, and I'm in charge, right? Paul doesn't have to know. I just want you happy. And anyways, you're not making money anymore. We don't need you. You're okay. You can get out. Sean can take your spot, yeah?" Liam asked, and Niall shivered a little.

"I'm worth that little?"

Liam's heart breaks. "No, of course not, Ni. You're worth that _much_. You deserve to have more for your life, and we all just wanna see that happen."

* * *

Niall gets a job at Tesco.

* * *

"Zayn, Zayn… Zayn, it's just a job. He's just getting a new job, it's okay; he is just delivering groceries. It's fine, listen, I-" Zayn slams the bathroom door on Liam, cutting him off. Niall has a job. A real job. An official job. He's going to get paid in checks instead of cash, and he's going to be wearing a uniform that hides his chest instead of baring it out for the world to see.

Zayn is _furious_.

He can't tell if he feels jealous, or abandoned, or both, but his shoulders are all pent up, and he can't seem to stop pulling at his hair. He catches his own eye on the mirror and his heart decompresses.

Red lip stain is smeared cross his upper lip and chin. Mascara is smudged around his eyes, turning him into some demented racoon, and Zayn puts a tentative hand to his cheek, cheap foundation rubbing off on his fingers as he pulls them away.

Something hard sets across his features, and Zayn rips the medicine cabinet door open shuffling through all his make up for a second before he changes his mind and starts ripping things out of the cabinet, carelessly tossing them to the ground. Each one makes a satisfying shattering noise as their plastic cases crack, and soon Zayn is spiking them on the tile instead of just throwing them. His movements get angrier, and Zayn can see his face as he clears out the shelves in the mirrored backing of the cabinet, and he's done.

He is done, he is done, he is so done. He's done with being so ugly, and done with _feeling_ so ugly, and he doesn't _care_ about his life anymore. He just so doesn't _care_.

Calloused hands reach out to the edges of the cheap storage unit, and Zayn pulls and twists and rips with all his might, screws coming loose from the wall, until the whole things comes apart in his hands, and Zayn throws the remains to the floor with a startling crash.

Broken shards of mirror and glass and an unpainted square on the wall are all that's left of Zayn's medicine cabinet, and it's all that's left of Zayn.

His breathing is heavy, and there's no way for him to move without cutting his feet. Zayn doesn't care. He spots _A Room With A View_ on the sink ledge and he tears it in half, leaving the remains on the floor beneath him. His head doesn't tell him why, all he knows is Niall's gonna get out of here, gonna leave him behind, and Zayn is stuck like this forever. There's no moving forward, and all the make up scattered across the bathroom tile is his inevitability. He'd morphed into this, and that was it.

Zayn winces as he makes a move for the door. He's done here, and he doesn't want to look at the mess he's made of the bathroom and his life. He opens up to find a petrified looking Liam, and Zayn sniffs, holding his head up high. He refuses to be embarrassed because of this. "It's all yours," he says simply.

The second he passes Liam by, tears roll down his cheeks.

* * *

"Ah, crap, Harry, would you mind lending me a hand? I dunno how to walk in these things," Louis called, making grabby hands for him and Harry stomped over in his own ice skates. A gray beanie was pulled tight over his ears to keep him warm, curls poking out in every direction, and Harry likes how he looks cute instead of sexy for a change.

"It's just like walking on skinny feet," he promised, grabbing Louis's hands to help him up, and then switching to hold onto his biceps as he starts to sway. "Ah, you gotta keep your balance, buddy. Are you sure you're gonna be okay out on the ice?" he asked, concerned. Louis brushed him off.

"Please. I know how to roller skate, isn't it the same? S'just you don't walk in roller skates. Get me to the ice and I'll be fine," he promised, and Harry smiled encouragingly.

"All right, no problem! Here we go, ready?" he asked, starting to help him move forward when Louis nods in agreement. He takes unpredictable, unstable steps like a baby who has just sort of figured out the whole walking thing, and Harry is unable to keep himself from laughing at the look of terror on his face. "Calm down, Louis, you look like you're about to die," he teased, and Louis huffed, blowing hair off his forehead.

"Well, you never know, I might be. We do have _blades_ strapped to our feet after all. Who's the one who thought we should all go ice skating anyway?" he asked, and Harry raised a hand for a split second before realising Louis couldn't go without the support and gripping onto him.

"That would've been me. Thought we could all use a break for a little, especially after the whole… whole deal in the bathroom the other day…" he trailed off, and Louis groaned.

"Ugh, don't remind me. I was the one who ended up cleaning all that up," he complained, and Harry is surprised but impressed. Louis wasn't usually the type to go out of his way for anyone, but he was proving him wrong every single day.

Harry helps Louis out onto the ice, and Lou looks one hundred per cent relieved to be able to glide around instead of stomp about haphazardly. Harry takes the opportunity to check up on everyone. Zayn's bare face was just visible underneath mountains of black hair and earmuffs as he skated around on his own; meanwhile, Liam was helping Niall to tie up his laces.

Louis catches his attention. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asked, and Harry looked back to him, a little shocked by the question but he nods his head anyway. "I always knew you weren't _really_ a bottom whore. At least not as much as you tried to make everyone believe," he commented, and Harry is a bit taken aback.

"What? How?" he gasped, and Louis pressed his lips together for a second.

"I dunno… For the most part you crept up on Zayn, and he's like… all bottom all the time, you know? If you really wanted to have sex with one of us, you would've either picked Liam or me. _Especially_ me. In fact, you not coming onto me is how I knew cause, like… I am _the_ top, you feel?" he said awkwardly, and Harry laughed.

"Oh my gosh, Louis, it's one of the greater crimes in the world that we haven't had sex. If we both didn't hate it so much, I'd suggest we do it for the sake of doing it," he joked, and Louis was laughing too.

"I'm glad we didn't. It would be hard to figure out who should pay who for what," he said with a smile, but the mood sobers with the statement. There's a pause and Louis asks, "You want I should check on Zayn?" Harry bites his lip, shaking his head with his curls flying everywhere.

"Nah, I'll do it… Or… yeah, would you? I think I might give Liam a break from the Niall negativity train," he suggested, and Louis nods, giving him a high five before skating across the rink to take care of Zayn. Harry gets off the ice and tags Liam out, sitting down next to Niall who can't be bothered to get up off the bench now that he has sat down.

"You don't wanna ice skate?" he asked, and Niall sniffed, arms wrapping around his middle self-consciously.

"Not if Zayn is ice skating," he replied, and Harry nods, the statement making sense. Things had been beyond tense between Zayn and Niall lately since Niall started working at Tesco. He was in charge of gathering groceries and products to be delivered, and his hours seemed to be the stark opposite of what they were for all the other boys. It made Harry extra determined to have fun with him tonight, but it made Zayn extra uneasy around him.

"Then don't skate with Zayn, skate with me. C'mon, Ni, I miss you. You want I should hold your hand the whole time so you don't have to cling to the wall?" Niall looks at him like it's a tempting offer before his cheeks turn red and he grabs for Harry's hand. "Ha, perfect. Now let's get you all set and have some fun, okay?" Harry zipped up Niall's coat up to his chin and grabbed onto his gloved fingers a little tighter.

"Thanks for helping all of us to relax, Harry. You're the best," he complimented, and Harry beamed, proud of himself for being such a good friend tonight. He loved getting out like this. He loved feeling _normal_. Of course he had the same shitty flat to go home to and the same shitty job to do the next day, but it was amazing to be out and about like this at least for a little bit.

"No problem. How are you liking your new job?" he questioned, trying not to let any sort of jealousy slip into his tone. Niall hums, standing up and stomping out onto the ice with Harry. He practically falls over on his first step, but Harry is strong and keeps him up right, half supporting him as they go around the rink.

"It's okay. I gotta wake up really early. And there are definitely some weirdos. But I think I might be a weirdo too, so I can't complain. And also, I don't like the dress code we have to follow, I feel like I look a bit like a nun or something, I'm so covered, but sometimes I wear cheek glitter still to look a bit cuter, and I think I'll be thankful for the way I get to dress soon, you know?" he questioned, and Harry nodded because he did.

"I think I would like to have a job like that," he said, humming, and Niall nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, you should! S'easy, you just pick things off the shelves and put them all together. S'very fun, and if you mess up, no one gets mad, you just put it back! Or… you should at least get a job that isn't what you do now. Cause being a hooker sucks, and I'm like… I'm over it. You should be over it too," he suggested, and Harry stores that concept away to process through later.

"I'll remember tha- oh, shit, ah~!" Harry swears as Niall starts to topple down and drags Harry to the ground with him. He lands on top of the smaller boy, and despite the pain, Niall is laughing his head off. Ice sprays into both of their faces as Liam and Louis skate up, both offering their hands to help them up from the floor.

"Next time we all go out to do something fun, I vote we do something less dangerous," Zayn suggests as he glides up to join them, wobbling a bit on his skates and obviously avoiding Niall's eye. Harry snorted in agreement, smile displaying across his features.

"I'll keep that in mind, big guy. Let's just have fun for now, okay?" he asked, grabbing onto Niall's hand and dragging them both away, the other boys following suit. There are a million and one spills onto the ice after that, but no one minds the bruises. They're having fun and it's worth it.

* * *

Louis groaned as another terribly dressed model walked down the runway. "I swear I could do better than all of these Project Runway designers. Maybe that should be my next job. I have five pairs of breakaway leathers, and I made them all myself," he complained, turning towards Liam and poking him in the chest. "Mark my words, Liam. This is my next job."

"Louis, you hate sewing," Liam sighed, and Louis scooted closer to him on the couch.

"Well, what do you think I would enjoy doing more?" he asked, curious. It's weird to have Liam all to himself like this. It's early in the morning. _Way_ early in the morning. All the other boys were sleeping -except for Niall who was off at work already- but for some reason, here he and Liam were, snuggling and watching reruns _of Project Runway_.

"You would be a good police officer. You wouldn't take shit from anyone," Liam suggested. Louis instantly pictured himself pulling a gun from his holster and a scratchy polyester blue uniform. He obviously makes a face at the violence and clothes because Liam retracts his statement. "Or, you know, something else. You could be something else. You could be one of those sassy secretaries or something like on Mad Men or whatever."

"I wouldn't mind that, I don't think… 'Cept I don't think I would like having a boss…" he said, scrunching his nose up a little bit, and Liam freed an arm out from between them, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"You have a boss _now_ ," he reminded him, and Louis merely hummed, resting his cheek on Liam's shoulder. His hands fisted up into Liam's shirt, and an unusual sense of longing passed over him. Louis hadn't really realised how much he wanted until he started to open up a little bit. He wanted everything. He wanted a real job, and a real home, and a real _life._

They both shut up a little bit as the judges start tearing apart everyone's runway looks, and Liam scoffs bitterly as his favourite goes home. This is pleasant and domestic, and Louis feels weirdly safe somehow, here tucked up into Liam's side.

"If I ever get out of this, I'm taking you with me. We can have a little white house with grey shutters," he offered out of the blue, though he's not sure why he says it. He doesn't know why he's doing anything right now. He hates how he loves moments like these when everything's all up in the air and he's not in control of himself.

"With a red door and a big garden in the back," Liam filled in, and Louis is surprised by how relieved he feels when Liam plays along with him. "And you can be a police officer, working the beat, and I'll have some lady job where I basically just sit around and worry about you," he imagined, and Louis bumped into him a little bit.

"You're stupid. I'm gonna be a fashion designer."

"No, _you're_ stupid. You _hate sewing_ ," Liam snorted, and Louis hid a smile in Liam's shoulder. He really did hate sewing. It was absolutely the worst, and Liam knew just how much he hated it. It was nice to have someone who finally cared enough to know.

* * *

Liam pursed his lips together as he shook up a gin and tonic for a creep down at the end of the bar. He looks up from what he's doing as he bumps arms with Harry (he knows it's Harry without looking just by the feel of his bicep and the heat from his skin). "Hey, mate, would you mind whipping me up an appletini for that guy in the booth?" he asked, and Liam readily agreed. He was far better at mixing than Harry anyways.

"Sure, no problem. You thinking of taking him back? Or is this just a legit drink order?" he questioned, wanting to make sure he knew just who Harry was going to be with that night. It was important for Liam to have a grasp on just what all his prostitutes were doing (or who they were doing), especially the boys he was closest to.

"Maybe… I dunno… Oh, hey, your suspender is slipping off your shoulder," Harry noticed. Tonight Liam was dressed like a fire fighter again. He tended to do best when he wore this costume, foregoing a shirt and allowing his suspenders to stretch over his bare pectorals. Harry's hands ghost over his chest while he tightens the one that had fallen down.

Liam catches Harry's eye and catches his breath at the same time. "Harry…"

"Liam, I think I'm done with this…" Harry says, chewing on his bottom lip like bubble gum, and Liam breathes through his nose, caught up in the sudden intimacy and not sure what to make of what was happening. "I think I might need to quit. I think it's time to go back to normal."

"Haz…" Liam trails off, leaving his drinks on the counter in favour of knotting his fingers up in Harry's shirt, palms resting against his waist, but the curly haired boy merely shakes his head.

"It's time to go… It's time to go," he repeated, and Liam nodded, his heart clenching up terribly. He misses Harry already.

"Okay, Harry. Okay. Why don't you go upstairs with Niall then, yeah? You can be done. It's okay to be done," he promised, and Harry nods, a tear leaking from one eye, and Liam feels a few of his own slip past his defences, though he doesn't know why. This is an end, and sometimes ends are hard even when they're for the best. "I'm proud of you."

Harry's face splits into a smile. Liam knows pride from others isn't something he experiences everyday. "I'm proud, too. And I'm proud of you. Good luck," he says, pressing a kiss to Liam's lips, but it's not sexual or romantic, it's just some kind of goodbye. With Niall this was expected and a long time coming. Harry leaving feels like it came out of nowhere. "See you later, Liam."

"See you later, Harry."

* * *

Harry gets a job as a barista.

* * *

Zayn sees Niall from a mile away, the younger boy approaching him timidly and it kills Zayn that he's the one who caused things to get so tense between them. Niall clears his throat to get his attention when he comes close enough, but he's always had it. Zayn will always pay attention to Niall. "Hey…" he said awkwardly, hands stuffed in his pockets. Zayn can practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. "I just got a check this week. I got paid in a _check_. Not cash."

"I thought about how that was going to start happening…" he said flippantly, inwardly cursing himself for being such an asshole. The reason he is upset in the first place is because he wants more of Niall, and all he has been doing is pushing him away.

Niall nodded his head a bit deafly. "Yeah, well… well it's really exciting, you know? My first real paycheck? And I wanted to talk about it with you, but you… you and me aren't really talking. I dunno how to fix that, though, you're gonna have to lead me on this one, okay? Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make this better," Niall pleaded, and it's the first time Zayn's really able to see how much he's hurting him, despite kicking himself over the past few days for the terrified glaze over Niall's eyes. He doesn't respond so Niall starts begging again. "C'mon, Zayn. Tell me what to do."

"You're _leaving me_ ," he says, voice young and little, and Niall's gaze softens. "You're leaving me, and I'm going to be stuck here forever, and you're… you're _leaving me_. I'm mad cause you're _leaving me_ ," he explained. He isn't expecting a hug, but Niall wraps him up in his arms anyway.

"I'm not leaving you, Zayn, I'm leaving all this _shit_. You're still Zayn; you're still _my_ Zayn. I'm always going to be with you. I'm not… I'm not leaving you behind just because I'm leaving this job behind. I'm sick of having sex I don't want, don't you understand?" he asked and Zayn for his part nods into Niall's shoulders, feeling a lot of everything and nothing at the same time.

"I don't want you to grow out of this without me," he mumbled into Niall's collarbone, and Niall shudders against him, somehow finding his way into his lap.

"I'm not doing anything without you, buddy, honest." Zayn shakes his head; he knows Niall is leaving. He can feel them breaking apart, and it doesn't matter that it's all been his own fault. He feels abandoned. Niall is growing up into a legitimate young man, working at a real business, and soon he would be better than Zayn. He would move onto people who mattered, and Zayn would still be here, getting his ass fucked to feel beautiful for a fleeting moment.

"You're moving on," he sniffed, feeling Niall's chest expand and deflate with a giant sigh. "You're moving on and I'm stuck here. I'm going to be stuck here forever, and there's nothing anyone can _do_. No one will _do_ something." Shit. This is so sudden and quick that he's breaking down like this. Zayn wanted to go back to being angry and distant instead of weak and vulnerable. He hated how comfortable Niall made him. It allowed for moments like this.

"I'll do something, Zayn. I'll do anything. Whaddya mean 'stuck'? You can leave. You can come with me. We can do this together, and you can get your own paycheck… What's stopping you?" Niall asks like it's simple, and Zayn merely hides his face into the hood of Niall's sweatshirt as an answer to save himself some embarrassment. "Shit, Zayn. You gotta stop being like this when you're gorgeous."

"But I'm not gorgeous," is Zayn's argument, and Niall rolls his eyes.

"No, that's wrong, you _are,_ okay? You are. Like I promise." Niall pulls away from Zayn a bit, much to his dismay, but then there are two fingers tracing the corners of Zayn's jaw over and over. Analytical eyes pass over him as Niall speaks. "Like this right here? You know most people would kill for a jaw like this?" he asked, and Zayn actually _didn't_ know that, and he wasn't sure if he could trust it. He didn't know if he could believe Niall.

"Stop, I don't need this," he replies trying to brush Niall's hands away, but hands end up cradling his face, thumbs sweeping beneath both of his eyes.

"And your eyelashes are killer, Z. Honestly amazing. And I love how when you're wearing just the right colour shirt, your eyes somehow turn just a bit green. But even when they're not like that, the gold streaking through them is incredible." Niall's thumbs move farther down on Zayn's face, now brushing over his cheekbones, and Zayn is too shocked to talk back, despite his best efforts.

"I… you… Well…" Niall doesn't seem to want to listen to his half-hearted attempt to argue with him, moving straight on to compliment him more.

"And I like these… you've just got great bone structure, Zayn. Everything about you is great. Your eyebrows, your nose, your mouth… Shit, your mouth. You change it's shape with lipstick all the time, but I'd rather you just leave it be. You're stunning, Zayn, honest. So quit complaining. Quit feeling stuck. Quit convincing yourself that this is where you have to be to feel valued when it's not. Me, Harry, Louis, and Liam all value you just fine, yeah? And in the right way. You're okay. You're gorgeous, I promise, and I don't care how long it takes for someone to prove it to you. But I do care how long it takes you to get out of this business. Let's get you better, Zayn. Let's get you better."

* * *

Zayn gets a job as a waiter.

* * *

Today is the day of the big move, and Liam isn't looking forward to it at all.

It hadn't taken much for Harry, Niall, and Zayn to realise that, first, ex-prostitutes probably shouldn't continue living at a brothel of sorts after they quit the business and, second, with their combined salaries they could afford a flat just as shitty -albeit a little smaller- than the one they currently lived in above the Cocktail. There had been a depressing amount of house hunting and a saddening amount of time packing leading up to this day, both made especially terrible by the fact that Harry was the one who had owned the TV and he was taking it with him.

They all look happy, is the thing. In fact, they all are happy, Liam especially. This is all he's wanted since day one, and now it was happening. His babies were growing up and finally doing something good for themselves, and now he didn't have to worry so much. His heart was near bursting with pride, but at the same time, every walk up the staircase with boxes loaded into his arms was one trip closer to _his_ Harry, and _his_ Niall, and _his_ Zayn being that much farther out of his life.

Liam loved his boys. He'd dedicated his life to seeing that they were happy and healthy, but it was kind of like… it was kind of like he wished he hadn't done his job so well? It was one thing to be waking up when his boys were going to sleep and going to sleep when his boys were waking up, but it was another entirely to be so separated from them. Liam didn't want them to leave. They were family. This was his family going.

He brings up the final box from the moving van and sets it in the middle of the living room. Three unwrapped, new mattresses leaned up against a wall in the hallway, and Harry's ancient telly is sat on the floor of the living room. Both made up the only furniture in the house, and Liam treated himself to another tour of the place.

It's not much. There's a master bedroom with an attached bath. There's a half-bath connected to the hallway across from the second bedroom. Niall offered to take the office as his room, despite how it was missing a closet, and that plus the living room and connecting kitchen made up the entire place.

"Things are gonna feel really empty back at home tonight…" Louis says, creeping up behind him, and Liam nearly jumps out of his skin, but he mellows out quickly, especially because it's just Louis. He's easy to relax around.

"Yeah, just me and you until we can find some new guys to fill the void…" he mused, trying to think of some potential new candidates, but Lou makes a disgruntled noise at his side.

"I don't want anyone new. Who cares about new people?" he asked grumpily, kicking at the ratty carpet. For the record, Liam certainly doesn't care about new people. "I wish they weren't leaving," he says wistfully. Liam looks out the window and spots the three boys in question, laughing outside the moving van, and he wishes he could be happy like they are.

He laughs a bit bitterly. "It's kind of like being a violinist on the Titanic," he said, wringing his hands together as he admits how he feels. Louis looks at him, clearly beyond confused, and Liam nearly erupts, he is so shocked. "Are you kidding me?! You haven't seen Titanic? All these orchestra guys keep playing their instruments as everyone else runs for lifeboats. I just… I feel like we're seeing them all off, and it's great that they're saving themselves, and it's great that they're going to be happy, but you and I are locked up in our watery graves, my friend," he explains.

"I mean… yeah. Yeah. But I guess that's what we want, right? You're in charge of the place, and I'm like… I need the control. So it's fine. Who… who _were_ you thinking of filling all their empty spots with anyway?" he asked nervously, avoiding the conversation Liam's thinking about starting, and Liam lets him -at least for a moment- because he's thinking about very scary, terrifying things and he's not sure if he's ready to process them.

"I dunno… Josh, Sean… Andy, maybe. I haven't really picked anyone out yet. I don't… I don't think I particularly care," he admits, and he doesn't. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about the Cocktail. He doesn't know exactly when it all stopped, but it's just now that he's realising that he hasn't cared about the Cocktail or it's business in a really, _really_ long time.

Louis is oblivious to his epiphany, however. "Oh… Well, maybe you should care a little bit. I dunno. But those names sound alright, are we gonna-"

"Louis, I have to confess something to you," Liam cuts him off, a secret on the tip of his tongue that he can't hold back anymore. Louis looks surprised and nervous. He has a feeling both of them know what's coming, even if it's a bit overwhelming. "I, um… I've been searching the help wanted ads lately. I think… I think I want a real job," he announces, and Louis looks like Liam's just slapped him across the face.

"You _what?_ You're leaving me, too? You're _leaving_ me? Are you gonna come live here? Why are you _leaving me?"_ Louis demanded, his face pink like he's angry, but the red rimming his eyes proves the flush is solely because he is about to cry. Liam tries to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Louis bats him away.

"I don't wanna leave you, Lou. But I have to… I have to start treating myself right. You should treat yourself right, too. Remember? You were supposed to be a police officer," he begged, and Liam isn't ashamed to admit it. He needs Louis to understand. He needs him to be okay more than Liam needs himself to be okay. But he can't be a hooker forever, and Liam is sick and tired looking in the mirror and only knowing himself as a whore.

"I was supposed to be a _fashion designer_ , fuck. Liam, since when were you thinking of leaving? I thought it was going to be you and me doing this all forever. _Together_. When did that change?" Louis asked, hands flying through angry, spastic gestures. Liam frowns.

"What does it even matter _when_ , Lou? Who _cares?_ This is for the best, isn't it? Aren't you sick of putting your dick into strangers? Let's move on from this." Liam is upset, and emotional arguments aren't ever all that convincing. Louis's face twists up, and Liam thinks he's about to be screamed at, when the older boy lets out a huff of air.

"Well then let's live here. Tell Paul we're living here," Louis decides, almost dejectedly. Liam feels like he has to do a double take.

"I… wait, what?"

"Let's live here," Louis repeats, stomping is foot in indignation. "Let's live here, cause I'm not going to live on top of the Cocktail if I have no intention of fucking the guys beneath it. We can all share beds for a while, right? And we got the moving van for the rest of the day, so lets go home, pack up, bring our stuff here, and let's… let's live here, alright?" he asked, annoyed, and Liam's eyes widen. This is fast. He hadn't expected it to all go down this quickly.

"We're gonna live here?" he asks because he can't believe it, and someone gasps in delight from the front door.

"You're gonna live here? With us?!" Niall yelped, and Liam waves his hands frantically.

"No, no, Niall, we were just-"

"Harry! Zayn! Liam and Louis are gonna move in!" Niall calls down the stairs, already one hundred per cent on board. Liam can practically see the gears whirling in his brain. "Should we pack you up tonight? We should probably pack you up tonight while we still have the truck… And shit, sleeping arrangements… Well, maybe I can sleep with Zayn cause he has the big room; Zayn would you mind? And Harry you could take the office to yourself, but then Lou and Liam can take the mattress in the bedroom? We should really get some furniture, but when Lou and Liam start working rent will be much easier so that'll come quickly… Ah, this is so exciting! Let's get moving so we can get their stuff all over here!" Niall yelped.

Liam's nearly pushed over the edge. All these decisions are being made much too quickly before his eyes, and there's nothing he can do to slow it down. A hand on his lower back centres him and he turns to see Harry smiling at him. "I'm proud of you," he said, just like Liam did on the day Harry decided he was done, and Liam smiles in spite of himself.

"I just thought that maybe, if I still don't know who I am, I can at least be something a bit better occupationally," he said with a shrug. Harry kisses his lips chastely, just like before, and Louis follows up with almost a territorial kiss to his cheek. The peck through his stubble burns more than the one placed on his mouth, and Liam's not sure what to make of it. All he knows is there's a gut feeling inside of him telling him that this was the right decision.

* * *

Liam gets a job with Niall at Tesco.

* * *

Louis gets a job with Harry at Starbucks.

* * *

Niall rolled on top of Zayn, smiling down on him. "I think tomorrow I'm gonna come to the restaurant. Maybe you can serve me, yeah?" he asked, and Zayn offers him a grin up at him, reaching up to straighten his waiter's bowtie.

"I think I could manage that. I wish I could order a special Tesco delivery from you," he said with a pout, and Niall hummed, resting his ear on Zayn's chest to listen to his heart and look at all the other boys.

Niall, Harry, Liam, Louis, and Zayn were all collapsed on the floor of the living room. They didn't have a table to eat at yet, let alone a couch yet to squeeze onto. Liam was sitting with his back against the wall, an exhausted Louis passed out in the spot between his legs. Harry looked tired too, slumped over everyone with his torso draped over Louis and Liam with a foot nudging Niall every six seconds. Clearly, it's harder than expected to be a barista.

Zayn was lying on his back, horizontal to the television, and Niall had his chest pressed against his. He dipped forward to nuzzle their noses together, an old episode of Extreme Cheapskates playing itself out behind them. "That's okay. Maybe I'll just pick you up some fancy shampoo or something to make you feel better," he offered, and Zayn smirked, eyes sparking.

"You're either loved or lucky," he started off slowly, a certain kind of excitement brewing in his eyes, "But I'm paying for your dinner tomorrow."

"I think I might be both," he quipped, and Zayn tickles his sides until tears stream down his face he's laughing so hard. "Enough, enough!" he yelped, sighing as Zayn laid off. He tucked himself into his side. Zayn is warm against him, and it doesn't matter that they don't have much money for heating and it's cold outside. Zayn is all he needs.

Niall is content until Harry's foot kicks him in the ribs.

Niall groaned. "Ugh, Harry, you're _killing me_ ," he griped, and Liam cleared his throat.

"Look, Niall," he chuckled, and Niall sat up to see Harry's face. The other boy is completely asleep, drool pooling on the floor beneath him with his cheek pressed up into the carpet. Every now and then his legs twitch like a sleeping puppy's, and Liam looks completely amused. "I think he's having a running dream."

Louis roused himself enough to take a look at Haz before collapsing back onto Liam. "Holy shit, I live with such an idiot," he puffed out in an exasperated huff. Liam snickers at him, but runs his hands through his hair. Louis doesn't even flinch, he's so used to Liam touching him. Niall can't help but smile as he watches the two of them be so comfortable with each other.

"Idiot singular?" Liam asked, and Louis sighed.

"No. No, idiots plural, my mistake. I fucking hate all of you," he sighed, burying his face into Liam's thigh. It's an innocent and drowsy scene. Niall honestly could stay in this hazy mess of exhaustion, happiness, and touching without expectations forever.

It's nice coming home at the day and feeling worn out without feeling _worn._ Niall feels accomplished after work, like he has managed to do something productive, and the concept is new but it's starting to become familiar. It's _starting to become familiar._ Niall is assimilating, and he's doing it with his four best and only friends in the entire world.

"That's not even a little bit true, Lou. I know you love me," Zayn argued, and Louis merely waves a hand at him to blow him off.

"Don't worry, Zayn. He loves you," Liam promised just as Harry starts kicking again. His foot slams into Niall's elbow, undoubtedly bruising it, and Niall moans in pain. He rolled over and punched Harry's leg.

"This has gone on long enough," he said, hitting him again until the younger boy woke up. His eyes went wide with confusion before he let out a grunt of anguish as he realised he was awake, not sleeping. "Dude, you've been unconsciously beating me up for ages," he sniffed, and Harry pouted.

"So you hit me back? I didn't even do it on purpose." Niall stretched to brush his messy hair out of Harry's eyes as an apology, but Zayn doesn't allow him to play with his curls for long, wrapping around him and pulling him in close. Niall breathes into the embrace, happy to be so near to him. Zayn was safe. All of this was safe.

It didn't matter how sparsely furnished the flat was. It didn't matter how Niall shared a bed with someone else, and it didn't matter how that bed was nothing more than a mattress on the floor. It didn't matter how he worked odd hours and the rest of the boys worked odder; Niall didn't even care. He was just happy to finally get away from it all and to have these four lads with him. "I'm sorry, Hazza bear, I love you. I love all of you," he promised, and Zayn kissed his cheek enthusiastically.

"Love you, too," Harry said grumpily, scrubbing drool off his cheek.

"What were you dreaming about, Harry?" Louis asked. He grabbed Harry's hand, and Harry shrugged.

"I dunno… It was you, me, you, you, and you," he says, gesturing to all the boys in the room, "and also Danny Tanner and Michelle, and Stephanie, and DJ from _Full House_. And also Uncle Jesse. And we were playing this raw game of hide and go seek in this church, but then the church turned into some dungeon and hide and seek turned to hiding for our lives like in _Amnesia_. Then Danny turned out to be the most badass of all of us, and he took down a gunman by head-butting him in the face."

"What I don't understand," Niall said, face screwing up, "is why you wouldn't be instantly thanking me for waking you up out of that nightmare," he said, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, I didn't get to see how it ended, Niall, did I? You could've died. And now we'll never know," he sniped. It makes Zayn hold onto him a little tighter around his middle and Niall scoot back so he was more flush against the boy.

"I think if there's anything we've all learned by now, it's that we can make it out of anything if we all have each other," he said: corny but true. He's smiling smugly with the comment before Louis grabs the closest object to him -one of Liam's shoes- and throws it at him.

"Like I said. Idiots," he complained.

"Love you, too, Lou."

"Love you most, Niall."

"We really did make it out, though, huh?" Liam suddenly asks, looking up at the ceiling like he's seeing a thousand things above him that aren't really there. Niall looks up too, and he can tell in his peripheral that just about everyone's doing the same. "Thought maybe some of you would but not me…" he trailed off, his hands going from comforting to nervously playing in Louis's hair.

"I knew you would," Harry promised. "I think we all knew we would get each other out and ended up being swept along ourselves," he commented, and Niall's chest expands and he longs for a group hug until he can't fight back the craving anymore.

"Cuddle puddle," he demands, lazily flinging himself on Harry, Louis and Liam, and it's not long before Zayn gets on top and crushes them all. This is how they belong. This is how they should be. Maybe not lying on top of each other, of course, but… but together.

After all, how would five prostitutes find their own worth anywhere else but in each other?

**Author's Note:**

> I just feel so bad. Please don't hate me if you expected a lot of sex and didn't get, like, any.


End file.
